This Brain

What is this brain?

I see it

moving

like a crippled butterfly
in the air

It amuses me,

it makes me laugh
I laugh like it laughs, I
see like it wants me to see

It builds angels and Sequoia

it builds the ant
and a bridge in Oregon, it conjures

faces, feelings
it always starts like this, doesn’t it?

Alone in a bathtub, the
TV
on somewhere else

watching the water take on your heartbeat.

The tiles
dwelling as the same tiles they were yesterday, smiling.

What are these lungs? This
heart? This hair?

Why was I made this way? Born with a
penis and hands and ears, I’m another one, Ok--

it reminds me of the misgrowths
upon wild fruit,
insect larvae, lucky to have
burst
into this spontaneous shape
and not some
horrifying mistake.

I think

the blood still pushes through my veins, a train
swaying
quietly
in its tunnel

until…

really, it can manage a good amount of things,
figure them, solve them. Draw them.

It is a good friend,

so we drink wine together. We put our arms
around one another
with love.

But we also kill one another, because
there’s so much

we can’t do;

we laugh and die

we sit atop
thousands of years of quietness
together

a mirror looking into a mirror

as one match goes down into the water,

and the sound
of that water

as it
drains in the dark.