monologue (for Pygmalion's statue)

it’s

it’s as if

it’s as if I’m here

and yet

it’s as if I’m there

it’s as if I’m moving

and yet

it’s as if I’m still

it’s as if I’m falling down

and yet

it’s as if I’m standing up

if I listen closely,

it’s as if there’s a tempest

swelling

in the precipice

of my thoughts

tossing neurons to and fro,

spreading white noise

across the fabric of my skin

*

it’s as if I’m breathing

this air, so smooth and clear,

see how it bends with me,

see how it never asks why

it’s as if I can touch

the surface of the minutes,

that I ride

my limbs swivel in their sockets,

vectors entangle,

the atmosphere parts

and I follow

and yet

it’s as if I’m lost

within the architecture of my body,

as if my fingers cannot seal up

the crack in the sky,

as if my muscles cannot appease the Phoenix

beneath the floor

*

it’s as if I can taste

the questions in the back of my mind

and the answers upon the tip of my tongue

and yet

somehow I feel

as though I’m more than these mechanisms,

as if I recognise the warmth of that light

and the sound of that music

it’s as if there are things more withstanding than flesh

and more delicate than ivory