The head’s hegemony – is it the enemy?
Always thinking it is larger than it is
and taking charge as if it knew what
it was doing. Tiny slits of eyes pursuing
the familiar and eschewing the unknown
permit distorted shapes and tones and sizes
to invade the mind’s surmises, onto which
assumptions lard their grease so slickly
that the sickly thing the senses must
collectively become – attempting to report
through slime – seems hardly worth
the time a trillion synapses elapse to give it.
The head examines reason like a Lilliputian
king and tries to live it. Perhaps we should
look kindly on the little thing – forgive it,
.
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