Sunday, November 25, 2012

So Where Do You Live?

To tell the truth, not just respond to your reflexive questioning,
I ought to answer with a litany of which the city
Is the first thing on the list, my address next. Or should I start with
Continent and state? And if you wish to reach my voice alone
Herewith the digits of my telephone. But, to be sure, I could
Destroy the small talk that you wish to start to fill the time until
This plane takes off in this—is it really fog?—I could still add a
Few things more, among them, here, this suit I wear and, layered beneath
Its complicated surfaces are underwear and socks under the
Leather of my shoes. And given that these coverings get wrinkled
Up in use, get sweaty, smelly, and so on, multiple copies
Of these habitations reside in drawers, hang in closets, wait
On the floor in polished rows. Where do I live? I live in these, but
There is more—or rather a corrective. My body lives in these,
And I, whoever that “I” really is, lives in the body that
In turn lives in my clothes that live inside the house, at that address
And on this continent. And I, within this most mysterious self—
To reach the end, naught left behind—I, dear sir, live in my mind.

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