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Human body. So soft. So fragile. So docile. Intense pain, inflicted slowly, but consistently, can bend, twist, tear the body, and the spirit, however incredibly strong it may be, eventually gives in, because the body that you call yours is not yours and when pain speaks to it, it has a way of receiving it by taking a few steps back to minimize the pain a bit and it takes the spirit giving way to the necessary extent. There is nothing you can do about this–you are nothing, all you call yours is rented, borrowed, and the body dealing with pain does not need your interference, eventually. You are pushed aside, even when you try to be in the way.

Pain is the ultimate force that moves the spirit or makes it irrelevant when everything else has failed. That is why, as history witnesses since the beginning, humans turn to the body and take recourse to inflicting pain in or eliminating it when all other ways of negotiation and persuasion have fallen short and disagreement persists.


Haggard House

Its stairs creaking to the weight of
the ghosts of memories walking up and down
while I lie curled up in the bed
like a fetus in the wombing dark
listening to the trembling house pumping
memories in and out mixing times
into watercolor clouds.

The house is going home–
the roof, the walls, the floor boards, the cornices–
piece after piece, faithful to the earth’s beckon,
its pull of love,
and I feel being lowered in a wheelchair in a hospital elevator
to an underground theater
where they contrive to stop the clock.