Just about half of me is cognizant,
is aware of sounds, of sights,
of the concrete substantiality of the universe,
holds a mike, so to speak, to its microwave emanations.
The other is silent.
The other sits in a limpid pool.
Its muscles relax
until they are philosophically inert.
One half of me needs tranquillizers,
the other amphetamines.
Can’t you tell?
Look at the way
one eye bulges
as if attempting
to absorb information from the tree of knowledge,
like its wants
must come non-stop
from every direction;
the other half is exhausted
just thinking about these lancinations.
When it lies down it exposes
the non-absorbing half
to the environment.
People wave. Insects bite.
Jackals wander by, sniffing, but then retreat.
Alarm clocks go off nearby,
but are unheard. The first half
takes hypotensive medications;
but it does no good; its head gets blown
off altogether. The other half
never felt it coming.