Ant Performance

The ants walk across a peony flower.
Now they walk across a small piece of paper
because of a juvenile trick I just played on nature.

I interfere in the phenomenal world again.
Through Phoenician shapes couched as me,
I recreate this experience as “this experience.”

Hi! I’m a poem.
I’m the without part of language.
The within part is lost.
Call a plumber.

Did you guess I write this in darkness,
sitting in a chair all skeleton, no flesh?
The ants must be on the inside of my eyes,
since they went down the anthole hours ago.
But I am still seeing them being lost,
and being interested in being lost
or pretending to be interested in being lost.
They groomed me into language. Talk about
low-tech. This solution is thousands
of imperfect years old. The worst that could happen
is you are bored. The best that could happen

is your mind will just wander forever

like ants.