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Dawn Lundy Martin
Apologia (for A)
There is the I and there is the me and this: the me there because the I is without circumstance or situation, only history and running, running as dogs run not toward anything, just running and running until the body gives out and lies on a linoleum floor because it’s cool. Here we are in search of relief. And there you are heart beating and glowing. This is the love of geniuses, the happenstance fault of being flesh and being heart and liver and lungs and sweat. And the I looks up at the sky and there is the body, so singular as it gazes, the sensation of aloneness but there’s a whole world out there and so many others, some who, too, might be looking up into nothingness and seeing something. And here we are, in a city of congestion and everywhere little glittering shapes. So, the I, or perhaps, now, I, say, in shame (looks aslant), I was standing on the wrong surface, or I wanted to stand obscenely close, a kind of investigation in knowing.
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