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you slipped and we called it
a hit and run off the edge of the Moon
the Headlight shaped lightning caught you halfway
like a sword-through-the-chest
and we called it Invention
You burn and are born
as you fizzle with the night
then you were Seen for the first time
a head pokes into the clouds like a
finger gaping through a hole in the sheets
like a
mother labors a child into the world
like a
like a
neolithic spirit exhales through a trepanned skull
a faraway god remembers the steering wheel
and Swerves
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between burning walls, the smoke, it rises
now a modified version (10/31/22), with a new title:
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YOU ARE READING
HUMAN PSYCHE
Poesíabecause that which makes us human is that which we think makes us less human
