The effable body begins to glow
I want to convince you of your enduring hallucination. It is evident only when you lose your evidence, when the body dissipates and the wit starts babbling like a pack of dogs, a flock of geese, a limb whose cells don’t scratch loud enough to perk at your ears. But all things move, being things. That seat of the soul situated in the middle of all your thoughts and all your opinions, all your sensations, all your attacks on the impenetrable state of what you were before you were, and what you will be after you are not, the little gland which calcifies in wisdom, I say it is a natural tab on your tongue you went through no trouble dropping. Your brain, which cobbles every racial slur and every orgasm, never stops seeing the ceiling, which is not, disappear and reappear rearranged as a flecking of white freckles in a black pan where a big white eye looks at you, gawking in jest, yanking the waves all about the naked body your brain likes to question.