I am observing the world
whose very act of existing
has made us claim
that it is the only world to exist.
I am observing
the shadows of the sun
when suddenly the monkey
appears again, opening
that window
below my language.
It picks up all my words
and chews them, only to spit
them out while producing
a grotesque sound of pleasure.
I’ve seen this monkey many times,
he comes from the world within
that is populated by innumerable monkeys.
They all seek the only thing
they claim is real: monkeyhood.
Monkeyhood is hidden
deep in their jungle,
it can be eaten, soft caramel-like
substance that it is.
But only a few monkeys are able
to reach this sacred core.
The monkeys that visit me
are those that for whatever reason
have stopped seeking monkeyhood.
They would rather appear
unannounced in this world,
to taste a few fragments of illusion –
as I believe they once called it.
I sit watching the shadows of the sun,
here below the clouds while I describe
the indistinct quality of being alive.
