by Karina Ithier ’20
How contemptuous is the human gaze, distanced-
They do not know, recall my thoughts– they do not see myself as I
Perceive myself to be. I must keep calm, they must not know I fear their
Thoughts less than I fear my own. The universe taunts and
strokes its oars against the time that I am in
Hysterics- the buzzing whimpers of uncertain miracles, the ultra-missionaries
Shaking their heads so– it is a party–no, I say to him– it is a funeral,
It is a madness in the mind, a distant human elegy, waking up:
the next morning is the hardest, when I am contemptuous for today–
what allows people to start anew? Must we construct our own time in the
Face of fear which has no tangible being? And that is it! Fear is illusionary and
So we fear it coming upon us, creeping upon , when it does not exist.
I’d rather fear the tangible.
The human geography, it fluctuates
And orbits–it transcends its own philosophies and destroys its former so that
Once a thought is present it is killed for its realities— but ah–
Is that so? Does this thought
Provoke again? And history- without end-repeating, repetition- killed but resurfaced?
A fear intact its
Thought perpendicular, progressing to withdrawal.