And Now For Some Philosophy

I’m breaking into smaller vestibules -
Bodies of feeling,
Each one writing on a different page
Black and white stories –
Starkly contrasting one another;
Blending with the summer sun
And the cotton shirt,

With the frank, wide open eyes on the other side of the table
And the whiskey
Yet I am.
One with a tag. One with a name.

I’ll make you proud, Mother,
I’ll close my eyes and slit myself
So I never bleed again into the world
Or into its secrets.