Derri da da

 Derri da da

Mr. Derrida

When I awoke this morning I had a pocket of air

stuck under my shoulder blade like a burp

and it had your name on it

It made me want to be bones

Just bony bones

Because I have this feeling that when I disappear

that burp with your face inside it

doesn’t go away

it’ll just float up

and you’ll be able to see yourself like a bubble in the sky

And even as I disappear

something of you and my assembling of you

and the “I” that exists as a result of this co-mingling—something ephemeral…

Something beyond the word signifier “I”

something beyond words altogether

remains

The other night I had a dream

Every time I tried to question something

it disappeared

Everything I questioned

dissolved

Now, it could be a perfect picture

Or it could mean I’m lame

toothless, fleshless, incapable of shifting shapes

Incapable of asking questions

Then I’m just a burp

stuck in the shoulder of the things I serve

Technology

Bad ideas

Consumerism

The guys with the biggest guns

Mr. Derrida,
Today was supposed to be
just
another day

but I woke up with you
inside a burp in my left shoulder blade

and I want to ask you:
do you believe in the possibility of my bony bones resounding my form?
do you believe in the possibility of my malleable identity linking to yours in the cosmos?
Can you consider the possibility of a burp that never disappears? You say that there is no “I”
because that “I” presupposes our existence—and that would make us immortal

—But Mr. Derrida,

today I awoke

and you were stuck

like a burp

in my left shoulder blade…