Is he derailed at all? Is he in
California? There was one
armchair on the left but no,
perhaps that was the previous
room. He has had to choose.
To continue wanting to drive the car
into a wall or burn himself to death
inside his library. Or to accept the
medications. Now there’s no music
in his head. The words that come
to him are quiet, maybe not his
own. How could a life have reached
to nothing but this choice? The
choice is made. The only thing
that’s gained by this procedure
is seeing other bodies full of life.
He now sees every being from
bird to human, even flower,
as separate within itself —
a complex entity never to be
unraveled in ten thousand years.
Before — each being was the
image of himself, but little more
than his own reflection. And he was
this great war, brighter than they were.

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