Products of Perception
Perhaps an implantation.
Perhaps there is no soul. And biotech
metaphysics can’t prove I’m whole.
If there were clear demarcation
between me and why me
then why wine and why whine
and if so, why not all the time?
Since flavor is olfactory
and pleasure in the brain,
does it make sense for the mouth
to open and admit blame?
Fluid body, fluent tongue,
flu-like symptoms hide a hole
through which a neutered fever catches
neutered cold. I’m told a kind of eerie light
flicks on when mind becomes itself.
Like when a book is opened,
and read, or just falls off the shelf.
—Brenda Shaughnessy
—found in Our Andromeda (2012)