a rumination, a revelation

stuck or trapped
in body?
God’s mental workmanship
so shoddy?

born on
automatic mode
now manual
now unsewed
no sense
of future
without
a suture

too conscious of
consciousness
certainly too
autonomous

too aware of
being aware
I stare, I stare

overly aware
of own existence
no path of
least resistance

body seems irrelevant
no Eucharist, no celebrant

with all that it can bring
life is
a most uncomfortable thing