If I had been blind forever
and came to sight,
if I had been deaf from delivery
but now introduced to sound,
if I was comatose since birth
but now woke up,
what labor of content
lies before me?
It is as if I awoke
in a solo kayak,
in the middle of a feature race,
near the finish line,
to a roaring crowd.
There is startling movement.
There is shear momentum.
There is profound acoustics.
There is a blizzard of images.
I am in a body at overwhelming affect.
Yet there is bliss without frame.
Something on automatic takes over.
There is foreground intrusion.
My mind is in a dance of deluge.
I am hurt by depiction.
My senses are thrashing me.
There is this burden
to the labor of content,
yet I am totally free
. . .
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