Anatta

No-self spread to two. Still no-self?

I am not I,
and you not you,
not free except
by that we do.
Yourself, she splits,
but not in two -
there never lived
a soul we knew.
So I, at length,
will come to view
my body void
of earthly hue,
remove the mask
that serves as cask
and tak-
tak-
ah I cannot go
b-b-beyond this
point I am nothing
aNmyore only
a,ggre-gates
and Pieces w/out
a heart or god
ive gone an killed
my m..m…muse.

Reviews

[H.]

This reminds me of why Pythagoras held anarchy as the highest of crimes. The dissociation, those seemingly psychosis-induced, forced rantings toward the end really are a thing of beauty. And a rigid meter (well, at least for the first half of the poem)? I'm shocked. Pleasantly shocked.

What is really odd about this poem is a day after I read it first, I had a long talk with a friend that lasted deep into that night that really reminds me of this poem. He was explaining how he sometimes felt he didn't exist, that nothing did, and how under this impression he could not understand morals, God...the rest of the converstaion isn't relevant right now, but that's how I felt for him--as if he was killing his source of divinity, his inspiration to create.

Next time I need to know of what next that my friends will speak I'll simply read the latest work you've penned. But time is short and time has come for this review of mine to end.