a pronounced profile without pensivity--
turned sideways, like that.
an installed idiot, an endless green
stretch, beyond curious but not curious.
imagine no further than the following:
his mind consists solely of a thought
that will not come to it.
only the lingering impression of having
to recall itself--seven Sundays in a week.
what would it be to look for the light on,
without knowing it?
it would feel like you're always about to
die, without knowing what death is.
what if such a one was charged enough
with impending death, to suddenly recall
more than the mind.
facing forward now, like that--as would
one about to recreate a week.