Meltdown, the Recipe

 

 

Reality

traded places with the burning fire of be it get it find it force it.

Steam and smoke filled my living room.

Cooking happened, smelling human.

Big inflated me fizzled to flat wet latex

and this went on for weeks. Twice.

Do-it-yourself directions:

Puff and huff and blow yourself up

until space is filled with redundant blind and bloated I.

You’ll see yourself,

throne claimed, crown crowning.

The royal you,

two letters forehead-carved with Descartes’ knife

M

E

It’s hopeless and you know it. You’ve always known.

Give up.

Be sick of yourself.

Simply stop, remove face, be unfilled.

Hold everything that’s thought, felt, purportedly known

in one hand.

Tattoo the other: ‘What’s true?’

Sit with this hand and on the other hand.

Walk with it,

shit piss eat with it.

Sleep dream writhe with it.

Shower with it, shop, run, drive with it.

Make love to this question like a demon from hell,

until the letters in the black ball float up

‘I know a few true things and me isn’t one of them.’

To finish,

celebrate your death

and pound in as necessary:

Life is ocean,

and I am water.


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About Lisa Kahale

Just THIS.

7 responses »

  1. Amazing and a sharp edge ….

    Reply
  2. OMG, Fabulous…”Make love to this question like a demon from hell” LOVE your blogs. LOVE you! You are LOVE!
    xoxoxo
    Debbie

    Reply
  3. “Make love to this question like a demon from hell ” really captures the driving, consuming intensity that energizes inquiry, heats it into a white hot magnesium flame that burns aware awake from the dross of “me”. This poem beautifully captures both the experience and the effect of inquiry.

    Here the question was “What sees this ?” Every day, every free moment. The tattered self was held together by fraying threads when stumbling happened across Ciaran’s archive.

    More than worth a reblog.

    d

    Reply
  4. Pingback: Meltdown, the Recipe | Standing in an Open Field

    • It is such a pleasure to share the same experience via writing. You said it above, dominic: “… the driving, consuming intensity…” I was on fire. Could not stop. Never wanted to. Still don’t. So much more awaits.

      Thanks for posting this on your blog. So sweet to see it there!

      Much love.

      Reply

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