gods feel real as the dead,
as dreams and memories
(half-faded, buried in damp earth and clean wood)
all which cannot be touched is equal
under the harsh light of memory
(flickers and buzzes like cheap fluorescents)
my past is as strong as I am a thought
worries away at me with dirty fingernails
some mornings I wake up
convinced
we are the only souls in the universe
me a round smooth stomach, two eyes,
a body wrapped up in itself
you a whisper, rain on a sheet metal roof,
flowers on a fresh grave
perhaps you
are the world and we are in your image
or perhaps
the world is mine
(I feel this some days when it is not raining)
sometimes I think all the people of earth
are connected telepathically except me
(the fluorescents are humming a hymn now)
I am alive
in some small way
(though perhaps much forgotten by you)
Syd Shaw is a senior, double majoring in Creative Writing and Journalism. Syd is from Sylmar, CA. Their passions include long distance running, 80s pop music, and witchcraft.
