This little lite of mind

Ask your self:
how can consciousness
know the UN-conscious
which rules (need we argue?)
without reducing it to
conscious process, like
talking about sphere in
terms of flat lines?

Am I aware my voiced-to-voiceless
alveolar fricative plural-variations
depends upon—is governed by—the
environmental conditions of the final
segments of the noun I unconsciously
pluralize?
How do I do this?

What does it take to lift a finger?
tongue-tap the alveolar ridge?
maintain the valved hum of a
low-back vowel? the glide of
a voiced glottal? How do I
sustain such unconscious
capabilities & environed
mentalism?

[Once: Faulkner & Joyce exposed
their streams of unconsciousness
offending my linear habits of
beginnings, middles, & endings;
and then MTV, damnit, began
generating constellations of imagery
non sequitur to whatever lyrical
sequence was going on & on: my
sense of Show & Tell took a hit,
ambushed by internal providential
explosive devices until it became
clear to me what a merely
convenient truth a
sequence is— &
because & affect.]


Consciousness:
melting polar cap

Shrink
Shrank
Shrunk
the whole iceberg;
and then merely
the tip & now
only a snow
ball squat
on top
the tip is
how I’ve
come to see my

consciousness;

or sitting in a plastic
kiddy-seat beeping
a rubber horn as
if driving the auto-
mobile: a convenient
toot.

Watch out:
Consciousness is
Coming thru.
Beep! Beep!

Aiming
to save the
world with Buick
intentions, I’s berg
aspirations, & a
snow ball’s
chance in
hell.

Consciousness:

a miner’s lamp;
me: assessing
the true nature
of dark.

Consciousness

this little lite
of mind: I’m
gonna let it
shine my
total eclipse
of the sum.



xxxooo, Presbyter