Mind Mimesis

When I speak,
am I miming
my mind?

Is my mind
not mine
to mine
and to mime?


It makes me nervous.
I am wordless.
I feel nervous.
It comes in surges.
There’s ripped-up versions.
This dark recursion
is the untimely end of everything.

“All it takes is a change of perspective.”
In my life,
I avoid all consensus.
I will not let it in
(that too sure of a thing),
and I know that perception is senseless.

“All it takes is a change of perspective.”
Know that change,
out of sight,
is relentless.
So, keep reigning it in
(that too sure a feeling).
Let my sight and my mind be recursive.

Be more kind. Be more kind. Be more kind. At least, it’s on my mind to. I know I’m not the only one whose insides shake for realising: I want so much for others. With that, and knowing that the world breeds too much pain for them to bear and that wanting gets them nowhere, I cry some tears as I think of those others (I know, in vain). I know I’m not the only one who wants to treat my mother better, be a better sister to my sister, and a better person for my dad. I know that sitting in a bed in a room in a house closes me off from doing anything much for anyone. I know I’ll sleep on this, tomorrow will come, and I won’t have grown much kinder when I bare my teeth to let harsh words out and anger in. I know there are differences – huge differences – between acts of kindness and acting kind. I know that all I can really do that is real is to try being kinder to people because they need me to be, and I, too, need them to be kinder to me. We all have our faults, but what’s harder to shake is your conscience.

Meet me at the guesthouse.
Meet me in the hostel lounge.
Meet me at the campsite toilets.
Meet me in the quiet town.

Bring the fire.

Bring the fire.

Bring the fire.

Bring the fire. Bring a few.

Meet me if you’re willing.
Meet me when you do.
Let’s meet before they read your name out,
abduct you from this view.

Our souls aren’t made for mating now;
I think I’ll wait another few.
It’s bones I want to meet me here;
your hair and flesh and breathing, too.

Your skin smells of newly made melanin.
Your eyebrow is pierced;
at least, something is.
If you have tattoos,
they are funny/
without meaning,
but pretty,
like you,
all the same.

I feel like you’re funny
with meaning.
I feel like it’s funny
when you say my name.
It makes me feel funny
that you know me,
It’s funny:
you cause me no pain.

hear this,
(it’s important you do):
I can do without you;
I just need myself,
the sun,
and my women.
You are only fun
when you’re willing.

I am only fun
for you
when I’m willing,
and this was never real.

I knew from the beginning.