It's an effective conspiracy, between coffee
And sitting that drives the mind into the
Ceiling, and the brain to believe in
A mind (perhaps even a soul, if you
Happen to be playing on St. Augustine's
Libertine fields). Sitting, caffeine, I
Remind myself: find my way into my
Feet with this supposed mind, and when
I go to the ground through my shoes,
My mind remembers that it does
Not exist and my legs release
The tension they were holding
Believing they couldn't support
Something so disconnected from
Their bones and so high above
My head.
Roman Ryan 