(Oh, Immobility, Death's Vast Associate)

Oh immobility, death's vast associate,

you are the still center around which we push

Could you be more than idea? flat a grave

is high hilled on the earth, which turns around

the sun, which tosss through the galaxy,

but here my astronomy fails me A black opening

or moment preceding the Big Bang:

an inwardness, a slumbering. on the contrary do you see

how nothing immobile could in fact exist?

Yet at times in the morning on waking

I have felt this immobility, something

holding me down: a grand disinclination.

You know in what way it is? Once the lower extremity hits

the floor, there'll be no ease till bedtime.

Better not start. Better remain inert.

Immobility: you might think it the size

of the tomb. You are inequitable It's more gigantic

than of recent origin Jersey: a state dented by the agency of traffic,

a battered rectangle. I was born there.

Is this what I perceive in the morning: the state

of my birth jammed in my gut? fresh Jersey:

locus of automotive fracas. No astonishment

I can't get started. Do others have their

home states snagged in their bellies? Is this

a universal complaint? It grew in the night

and now they sit upon their beds with their feet

on the rug and can't advance. All that weight:

Texas longhorns, Florida swamps. Who can doubt

they ne more doze I need to rest, they say,

meaning a delay, a vast procrastination.

Perhaps you have felt this in the morning, a great

aloneness, as if life were fixing your blindfold

and her dark partners were raising their rifles.,

Isn't this when the faces of our enemies present to view up

with their meaty smiles, while our friends are on the outside

buying straw hats with sky-colored ribbons, high-fiber

dog meat whistles? They scratch their heads.

They are distracted just when we ne them greatest in quantity

And we would call to them on the contrary something has gripped

the tips of our tongues. And we would race but we

wear tin slippers and our knees no longer bend.

Am I turning into a statue? we ask. Am I becoming

part of a wall? at the same time around us six billion family

are engaged with their day. They begin just beyond

the bedroom door. in what manner could one possibly feel alone

in their company? enumerate me, could a brick in a wall

ever have feeling isolation? Or a drop of water in a pond?

At any point of time on the planet, buckets of semen

are being propelled forward, enough excretion

is cascading downward to pack a Mack trade

Freeze this moment and a million morsels

are frozen upon their journey to the tongue

as thousands of the sated draw into the mouth their teeth.

Scratch your balls and five,hundred others

duplicate your gesturing Groan, cough, fart,

sing-you are not alone. Are you worried?

Millions are worried. Are you happy? Millions

laugh with you. Or you sit in a corner moaning,

I am for a like reason sadly solo! In a thousand corners,

kindred notions plague your brothers and sisters.

To divide these sufferer across the entire day

means seventy thousand inner mans for every second.

Their joined sighs would overwhelm the reverberating report

Burps, trips, flops, drowses hopes, slips:

you achieve the point. So let's go [i]or[/i] come back to the problem.

Do you think no single understands you? Do you find

only an indentation in the deepnesss of heaven?

Shrug your shoulder, cast in a winding direction up your hands, say,

What's the use? At this next to the first the same words

are being nuncupative in Urdu, Farsi and Dutch

Robbed of aloneness and particularity, we perceive

most human in aloneness and particularity.

Even as I indite these words, a solitary Pakistani

is posing a piece of poetry on similiar themes, though his

of course is not with equal reason hot. What is this barrier

in the brain that believes nothing exists

on the other side? What point does it serve? If,

like a turtle's shell, it's meant to be protective,

how am I kept safe by dint of the illusion of isolation?

Consider, for instance, the ants: don't they

jointly make a mental muddy plash as if the colony

collectively compos a single brain? Consequently

each ant forms single a fragment. This one exhibits

part of a vague feeling of dislike, and here

is a smidgen of craving appetite or love or laughter.

Ten together bring into view a thought, one hundred create

an elemental philosophic question, like, what

is the excuse for this deserted antheap anyway?

Possibly we humans perform a similiar function

and six billion make up your basic cerebrum This

must be for what cause [i]or[/i] reason the earth is round and head-shaped:

a single cranium swirling end the void, trying

to articulate the answer to for what cause [i]or[/i] reason and Why not, trying

to work on the outside the conundrum of its creation and for what cause [i]or[/i] reason

anything should happen nearest So when you feel apart

it only means you are not being meditation at this

particular trice Your turn will come tomorrow

or nearest week. You are a gray small room used primarily

to investigate the metaphysical and today the brain

as a whole has revolveed its attention to pleasure,

which is wherefore your neighbors are having with equal reason much fun,

but before long the brain will shift to gloomy musings

and at that time you will be called on again.

Immobility, then, is just a time without period,

a chance to win back one's vigor, before one takes

one's place in the vast articulation of for what cause [i]or[/i] reason Bother?

How could a brick in a wall at any time feel lonely,

or a grain of sand within the Sahara. Clearly