Headlights swept past my window
rushing to where I wasn't
skyborne night-scape spotlight
of sudden fading sleep
yelling clouds at my eyes
The moment drew long breath
between forgetting the me of dreams
and rediscovering my conscious
like something that had slipped between the couch cushions
So real, I was, during that breath,
so egoless and lone and unfazed
the motes of my unlaboured axons hanging in the transition
like dandelion florets fleeing a child's exhalations:
If the molecules of myself forgot their work, right then
and held me suspended between stories
would I be truest to myself, forever more?
But they remember, the little bastards
the churning, industrious society of organelles and plasmids
each speaking their helix lines perfectly
performing themselves into a sum lesser than parts
in ability to understand cosmic purpose
and I awake backwards
into an identity so complex
that it understands nothing
(Inspired by a poem by Mahsa Nejad)
