I, the self, saw small subsidiaries of larger rivers.
Then I joined the water and sank deep in its hug.
As if chaos wasn't chaos.
Many simple and small expressions on the cusp of a monstrous wave.

-truly random randomness is absurdity
and absurdity folly.
Until oneself awoke to fleshy folly.
In every satirical ebb and flow
it creates neither order nor disorder because both are illusory.

There is no science of history just the insanity of hounds who trough
luminescence enough
to be dangerous,
gnarling their fangs at me.

In the distance they appear as beacons
but they are only ash now.
Electronic flotation device hovers above the memory,
kinetic nostalgia.

I the oneself can never be a memory
One has to become an objective entity to become a truly subjugate oneself.

-to reject it all,

discard all the objects,

to unplug,

to disconnect.

-reconnect to awaken to divine folly:

Contracting and expanding with the confidence of understanding with wives and
government.

The self thought it was him.
The self, a pariah, forgot the boy.
He became the whole self, the oneself,
and then forgot the self
to gain the self.

The warm plaster mold cracking.
Diseases and the cures both wear masks.
Plagues and reckless panacea are memories that only sort-of work backwards.

I the self,
poor masked sort,
felt the universe's tendons,
felt its flesh.

The oneself waits awake-
amidst the tearing of realities tissue.
Ossifying skin to bone,
to stone.

My muscles remember being metals
molten and dumb
like an Olympian.