Sunday, April 28
MORNING MIRROR
Having been born into
A ruthlessly capable
Body, I have much to say about
Nature’s neutral cruelty—
About how beauty was offered
To me—about how I took it
Shamelessly, dressing myself up
In the spare splendor
Of a one act argument
sovereignty only an old haunt.
Then one morning I wake to the lyric
Of a song designed just for me
By a proctor I’ll never meet
& after a short while of just sitting there,
My mind like a telephone, I think: oh, man
All this odious, distilled luck is a myth—
Beauty is a hand reaching back towards the soft part of the skull.
(Camonghne Felix)