On The Inside Of Poems Poem by Nicolas Born

You can't make a living
competing with reality
you can't live on reality either
you can survive an operation
and get everything back
and go on through Life
through quickly fading pictures
that was you
you and the One in the Oven
Persons panting under their tombstones-
With unspeakable exertion
by you and all your ancestors
you shield yourself
Land and water remain
the sky remains
and you remain
you have nothing to get ready for
little suns light your democracy And
you choose life and death
you have many Beautiful Voices
you are many
your skin is your skin And finally
nothing but skin
you're the entrepreneur of Life
impresario of white apparitions
you're the Spaceman out in the universe
the author of the course of history
you can print time like books
you dice and sieve and love And the ruins
of dictating machines are blowing in the wind
unreason is in full bloom
you're the bloom and the unreason
you're day and night in the day and at night
you're the killer
circling through your own veins
you're father and son
you're the slaughtered Indian
and the registered Indian
you're all colors and races
you're the widows and orphans
you're the prisoners' uprising
you're a howling that never ends
knife-throws shots
you're the fantastic athlete of the Dream Miles
the iconoclast in the head of democracy
you're the master chain-breaker
you're the secretly shining phrase
the pennant
the avant garde of the Free Kitchens
you're Man And
Beast when it senses death
you're alone and you're everyone
you're your death and you're the Great Wish
you're the map you're spreading out And
you're your death