That Vagrant Mistral Vexing the Sun: a Far Cry

I washed my brain and hung it to dry

In a steady breeze on a black clothes line.

I put a blanket down where it looked as if

The sun would be for a few hours more.

I stood by a long way off, on a tower,

On a rock, on a rooftop made of glass.

I remembered half of bible history in reverse,

I watched myself go back to being a romance

Between two hellbent cells.

I followed an earthworm as far into its veriform

Home as it would let me go.

I followed ants carrying nearly invisible separate

Parts of something they wanted to carry back.

I no longer had a face, if I ever did.

The angle of the sun showed me shadows of things

I'd never seen.

I looked at my hands through a magnifying lens

Long enough for smoke to emerge.

I wouldn't need that brain again, I left it

For birds, in lieu of words, and seeds.