Missing the Illusion of One

Sara Michas-Martin

Hello internal assembly team.
I am un-singular today in this rash of faces.
I sense the careful in me trolling.
An itch welling at the crown.
My shadow: no. yes. fast. approximate.
Operations make up your mind. I’m a looped syllable.
A white point diving and rising all over the map.
Inside, the self complains about duplicate selves.
One self looks out over another
and perceives a you.
Private-encoded self,
ravenous, on-a-roll, exception-
to-the-rule self—they all
dance wildly on the edge of a blanket
the self wants to lie down on
in a meadow with someone else.


Art by Evie Lovett