As in times like these,
I can close my eyes for a long time,
My fingers resting on the flat, smooth keys,
Inhaling as wind blows through window cracks,
And Jorge Luis Borges enters the room
To swirl within my lungs.
I wear poets as masks,
I, obfuscation of self,
I, projection of other:
I AM, Wallace Stevens
I AM, The Emperor of Ice Cream
I AM, That I am.
The greatest commandment is this:
Love the Lord, &c.
The second is like it:
Love your neighbor, &c.
And I ask myself: Who is my neighbor?
He says, "Let me tell you a story, &c," which ends up going like this: That other dude with the religion you don't like saved your ass and paid the bill.
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