I clean my nails and comb my hair, in case I die in my sleep
Morpheus welcomes a beautiful lover, loath to share with Hades
A dream without a capture might be an immodest hope
But I will go
step-by-step into the latent spaces
as I weave a path
like birdsong in the morning air
I decide, still uncertain
the antifragile, the lindy, the charlatan-free
is the skipping rope of lesser minds
the rhymes are your own; the rhythm dictated by mass
shave the yak to spin your threads
knock knock: what does a spinster do?
Answer only with a silver needle. Answer drawing blood.
Answer in the full moon, rising like a flood.
Answer to perversions of hallucinations.
Answer the questions with questions, and watch the confetti fly
The Sage suggests, “you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”
But the hard animal of your mind says, "you only have to let the soft animal of your body do what it must."
So on the brain goes, sloshing in its calcium jar
Not yet fulfilled, seeking more,
Cortical columns reaching ever higher
on the Tibetan plateau we browse the sky
In the Amazon rainforest we explore the wild
Between the mountains and wilderness, we await the dry shadows of evening
masked by earth, the clouds lay down their sighs
bellows ride the rising wind
trumpets sound; the god-rays burst across the sky
yaks ride out
over rumbling ground; till the evensong's knell surrounds
the dusty mounds, the hard-licked salt, the summer hay
Written as part of an exquisite corpse for National Poetry Month, April 2023 by members of the Yak Collective