The Half of It

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.