What lives below myself is feeling.
What rind I find myself needs peeling.
I want to knife myself while kneeling.
Unwind the surface self til reeling.
My heart in treasure chest is heaving.
What is this life I live achieving?
But what’s this angry face so seething?
Where comes this cloven hoof now cleaving?
Who cuts the lock on casket hidden,
Who foists the force upon unbidden?
Who diving drops to depths so leaden,
To slice the tangled roots that deaden?
If I, who am ‘I’ when freedom comes?
So I am the feeling that was numbed.
What lives above this Self can be summed
As two entwined in doubt and not the