Life in the Limbic Cave

What you must know, my dar­ling girl

Is that trap­pists are chattier

Part of the knack is to make your talk small enough

You must also learn to dodge the ele­phant when serv­ing dinner

Even so, there will be the hall of cloudy mirrors

Dimin­ish­ing dark reflections

Of a crea­ture so alone, that, were she not you

You would put your arms about her and give her cake.

What you must know, my dar­ling girl

Is that to be with the silent one

Is to be spin­ning in a black vortex

Is to lose the sense of who you are

Is to pad­dle in madness.

You must be armed with Stentor’s shout

For when the words that cost so much to say

Dis­solve into the air leav­ing you

An invis­i­ble, inaudi­ble unbeing

You must be pre­pared to devolt, unwatt

Col­lude with the jerk­ing strings

Fake igno­rance of the trip­wire, and the joke

Whose punch­line leaves you winded.

And for all this, what will be the gift, the treasure?

One night, when you are a soli­tary speck

Float­ing in the space between the planets

When your voice is thready with silent screams

The beast will open his shaggy coat

Hand you his heart with cal­loused paw

And let you in

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