Poem: The Story of You
You look like. Or how You feel. Or windy conjectural explanations of what
You think. You know all that.
What You want is to hear what happened. How You got here, how
You arrived at this particular moment in the space we call
wherever You are.
You were asleep when they came and took You from your bed, where every night
and some days
You dream yourself away, transporting the entire circus to other planes. Some call it
“escaping,” submitting to a power whose cheerful benevolence must be assumed,
not groomed. Nonsense skitter-scatters here and there, projecting upon the private screen that only
a lady eating strudel
longs calmly to canoodle
with her perspicacious poodle.
Then You were taken to Tibet.
Your liaison with the Evolved Ones left you scarred
with Life. Deadheads at parties can see this when You smile – which nowadays
is understandably intermittent and increasingly rare. But You don’t and can’t fret about
any of this. We all know
the horrible beauties You have seen. You
more than anyone.