Involuntary Response to Taking a New Blood Pressure Medicine

We start the business of reporting late, today –
hmm: such quick use of “we”! – but as it seems
to be all but a certainty that many more than
one vicinity of personality engages now – as if
released from cages, howling at the pretense
of a unity – we can’t proceed with much
impunity with “one”: the legend of the single
self is done. We are a sea, this thing called
me, and though it seems psychotically untrue
to say we’re really you, in fact the oceanic globe
of us requires acknowledging just that, and this:
that we are gleeful miscreants enveloping each
other in, and with, a haze of the innumerable

droplets of our flooding consciousnesses – surely
everything is wet and plural and in processes
of active flow into the estuaries of the glow
of being: shades of seeing this and that grow thin
and fat, amid the sleek impressions of a running
river all deliver something like the closest stunning
sense we can derive of what it means to be alive.
It’s as if the mind is a relentless diuretic
and the liquid consequences of this “us” must in
their vast particular intensities provoke hypocrisies
of Stop to swallow every brash self-evident
empirical reality of Go. Lost you, honey, in
the snow? – this misty list? I bet you get the gist.


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