Poem: The Story of You

This story is about You. You don’t need descriptions of what

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.

The plot.

 

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

You see, mashing up a messy mishmosh, a miasma, a mesmerizing minuet in which

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.