by Andrew Ferley
Whenever I'm in the shower
I can't help but wonder
When I see my body,
As to the oddity I am.
Smarter men than I said,
That I'm part of some
Unbroken thread.
They say it streches
Back to the first living cells.
But as the jets hit,
And I feel them
On my naked form-
I know it goes further.
The metaphor goes
Much further back.
I know in a very eloquent way,
That I am the cooling remnants,
Of a dying solar cry.
I know that at the singularity,
Everything I am
Expanded with existence,
But as I stretch the line forward,
I know that nothing
That makes me, me
Will outlast my dying breath,
But that everything I am,
Will continue to the end of time.
I am that Unbroken Thread.
Perhaps I am woven into,
The linen robe of a madman
Spouting platitudes to the desert.
As he mouths words that are
Just air that pushes forth,
From some sanctimonious ass.
He's obscuring in a fog,
The beauty of our form
Though perhaps with this prosey pondering,
I am part of-
A thread in
Some silken
Full body
Veil-
Covering the awful nakedness
Of a self replicating existence.
But perhaps I am neither string,
Nor line,
Nor robe of linen.
I am just a man concealed,
Within no convering.
His imperfect shape,
Standing in his shower
With his brow furrowed once again.
