It is trying not to think

Dressing to think:
I put on my smarty-pants
Squeeze into my clever clogs
Don my flat thinking cap
Then slip on her thesis:

If you do not despair
At the state of things
Then maybe you are not
Thinking deeply enough:

Where there’s death, there’s hope
Where there’s hope, there’s death:

She withdrew the knife
Held it lightly in her porcelain palm
Sliced another sigh from her throat
Glanced upward at the third sun
Poured herself a knowing drink
Lay down in the daisies
Undid all she had learnt
Transfixed on her windowless soul,
Then slowly, snaked within the grass,
Taking herself back to the beginning,
Before opposition, space or time:

What would they do if food
Was only a pill?
Education only an implant
Morals an electric shock
Sex an unconscious emission
Art an unwiped toilet seat?

Toe in a pencil sharpener
Anna swallows used razors
Sharpened tongue obsessed
With life on the off
Darts deep into every orifice
Dances between speeding cars
Exits into the womb, removes the sperm
Part egg part thought

Dr Freud sits there, head in hands,
Trousers on his head,
Science a weapon of mass destruction
What is reason if you need one:
The human crawls into
The mouth of the monkey