Split

Poetry by Brennan Carter

Split

I wish to split myself with a hatchet down the middle, entering myself at the opening of the wound and descend into myself incapable of judging the oddities of my marrow, the suit that dangles oppressively from the sinew of my innards so that I wish to every my flesh to the bare, pulsating ligaments. Myself I bear this world within worlds bound within God’s infinitesimal layers of itself seeking. Desecration of a name that I cannot udder for fault of remembrance; how names befuddle our minds and pervert our attention of what lies at core of a pierced heart or in pursuit of its founding atom. Why do my dwellings reek of foul alienage that I reckon with this tomb of meandering residence through which I experience these unfathomable gradations of depth.

What is I? What is me betwixt eternity and its want of acknowledged expansion? Time marches forward along an ascending staircase that rises until it vanishes like mist beneath our feet as we plummet towards an abyss of primary consciousness, the primary of primaries, an all-encompassing web of that emerges of galvanizing urgency. Myself contained within a world of infinite selves floating on  an easy river of fragments as fish ascend and descend  in fluid succession from below, having no vision, but bound to sacred drops of disembodied consciousness. To know that once you see the void naked of containment it drops like water upon a head bound in prayer, meeting perpetuity at eye-level and laughing. Then and only then can you emerge from your evaginated form awakened.