Impressions from the somatosensory cortex while crossing the Bardo. Collage by Mitchell Pluto
It isn’t easy being a scapegoat.
A shadow pursues my light.
I have a goat that has a habit of eating all the things that I make.
The weight of Saturn is on my shoulder, but thank God, Kali is my lover.
This narrative starts before the cemetery incident.
Everyone has an interior cornerstone inside of them.
A foundation of the self that unifies the past with the future.
Birth of trauma results in complications and haunts everyone.
The importance we place on something defines what we believe.
It’s vital to locate the object within the graveyard that meant so much.
Though the stones remain mute, language marks them.
Does the gravestone function like a tooth?
It depends on who you ask.
One person’s trash is another person’s treasure.
While enduring a cycle of replication, a plastic figure might provide redemption in this case.
The letter “I” is the basis for all the thoughts I have about things.
I direct orchestras with this baton.
There is relief in finding out that it was the poets who created the gods in this manner.
Breathe easy; it’s all make-believe.
Then, of course, we cross the bardo and find nothing so sweet.
Regardless, remember the truth and space are simply awareness with no words to describe them except on stones left here.
Written by ©Mitchell Pluto 12/7/2025
Mitchell Pluto 