Thing is, your body is root magic.
Sanskrit in the brain. We are all Somalian.
The thing writ on the body of Kafka. Hoopla.
One day, consciousness obscured by high-
functioning: overlooks the brute tundra
And in so choosing, entrained compass
God’s cruel trick to catch commercial
Learn iconic hook and jingle.
Be a repeat customer
Coiled in deep circuitry
To reappear upon trigger.
Press record it is not Christmas. Imagine parchment paper
Heart parachutes, the brain stem a stone tablet
Instructions packed separately in plastic.
The awareness a wire has
When you prick it up.
Seek dandelion.
A conduit for completing circuitry.
Caught sleepwalking again, Zombie sans
Thought, an inside job.
How wired awake are you right now.
Two energy drinks deep.
I was also an automaton walking through the kitchen with morning coffee.
Consciousness can’t keep constant watch.
The actionable undertow, unquestionable
Bridge, a substratum of what lies beneath.
Law suit, real estate litigation, but rock decorum
A tentative peninsula, emergent per se
Covenant between the two- fancy strata
Hell is words in your head
Family law: if I could declare an undertaker
Another year of my personality an undefended quarry hauling
Non-exhaustive list of things the body can learn: bravery, pattern, pain
A bell sets exciting!
We too are rapped on the head.
As our time comes we reflect on how barbarian we’ve been.
I feel caught forward.
I find myself doing things I am missing.
Jasper Glen's poems appear or are forthcoming in Posit, Streetlight Magazine, Amsterdam Quarterly, Tofu Ink, fauxmoir, NiftyLit, Pinky Thinker Press, The Antonym, and other journals. He holds a BA in Philosophy and a JD, and lives in Vancouver, Canada.