I can stare until my reflection disappears,
in the television across from the couch,
where I'm sitting drinking beer,
until my mind goes up in bubbles.

And I'm staring,
into the round headed figure,
and I can't see him clearly,
and he fades into nothing, gray.

And the image of the couch
reflected in the TV screen,
and no head or face or body.
Me staring, but nothing staring back.

Sometimes satori is horror,
realizing I am nothing.
Sometimes I disappear before my eyes.
Me looking but not looking back.

Waking up is a cross.
And I'm not sure if I'm anything.
To be and be not sure of anything
is a cross and excruciating pain.

To be nailed and come down from the cross,
to lay in sheets soft and clean,
and to try to fall asleep,
before you have to wake up again,
(in the mundane sense)
after you've sat across from the TV,
drinking beer and staring
into your own face,
until the reflection goes gray,
and you can see the couch,
but not your face,
is a strange and scary place.
The static ringing in your head,
and the heaviness, your muscles feeling dense
with numbness.

05/07/2017

Posted on 05/07/2017
Copyright © 2024 Ryan Nardi