By Wayne Miller
1
It was a desire to jump narratives—
to find himself suddenly
encircled by different lights
in the distant hills. To find
the hum of the engine
conveying him forward
had altered its tone. The self
had to be asserted
against that which seemed
merely given: the body’s
untranscendable location—
to step outside it, outside
what was visible
in the mirror in the room.
2
He found himself threaded
through the mouth
by his only narrative,
the body that held it
propelling him forward
through the dark, the light
of that narrative
reaching out to strike
the ground before him
in his only voice.
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I spent a ridiculous amount of time on Friday working on a review of Star Trek: Voyager's "Elogium", which entailed, among other things, pulling out a VHS tape I hadn't looked at in nearly 20 years to see whether I had the original trailer recorded (I did) since only the newer, less prurient one is on YouTube. I should probably have spent more time on incisive feminist analysis of compulsory heterosexuality and Kes's decision not to have a child, but I was distracted by the glorious Janeway/Chakotay scenes.
Otherwise, it was a relatively uneventful day. Saw three bunnies while out walking, had dinner with my parents, talked briefly to Daniel who needed information for security clearance forms for work, talked briefly to Adam about the fact that there's a Target now in College Park. Now we are watching Inspector Lewis, our second fifth-season episode (previously it was one with lots of Ashley Madison scandal parallels, so very timely). Here is a bird washing in a puddle downtown near the Smithsonian:
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