Self

I am not myself
When I’m with you
Or myself when I’m without
A sense of my self
On the whole I sense
Myself, existentially,
Aware that a self appears
When I, as myself, experience
Eyelids lifting in dim light
Hear, as myself, the sound
Funnel in through the ears
But I sense that my self alters
Things that seemed reasoned, once
Suddenly, lack sense
A perspective of selfish
Desires not driven by myself
But needed to remain my self
Or merely, a self, an abstraction
Knowing, myself, as a collective
Though I am, myself, conscious of
The inconsistency with which
I, as myself, often convey
I’m unable to know whether
It is myself, or my self
Where I, as myself, behave
Like an abstract being
Cells, as a self, at oneness
I’m not so sure of it, myself

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Self

Machine

Have you never ridden a mountain
On a pedal powered machine?
Man-made geology scarring
The long winding pass
One last shake of the bottle
Squeezing every drop of liquid
Gasping for air. Not acclimatised
To the altitude, wheezing away
The last kick of power
Crunching through each revolution
Gravity pushing down like
An outstretched arm
Leaning into my forehead
I’m not even thinking about
The townsfolk below the sky
Just the road laid for me to ride
The struggle is real.
My struggle is optional
When I reach the summit
I leave my machine
Photograph it as an achievement
But the view should humble
Everyone being equal to see
The mountain is bigger than
This carbon machine

Machine

Blink

I think a lot about time
How its dimensions crash
Through the narrow fields
Of rice and wheat
Ploughing relentlessly
Towards the inevitable
Concluding scenes
Stories that end
Hold greater power
Than stagnant mouldy
Soap left against the taps
For baths I never take
Time finds a way to get
Under my skin
The dark nail filed
Trimmed hair grows longer
Autumnal weather blows
Solitary axes to grind out
A life made of the scraps
As if it’s enough to halt
The silent stare of
Juxtaposed spectrums
Everything happening
In one blink

Blink