You are reminded every time you see it,

it’s there, not here,

that it’s not you, you are you, 

the strange split second present perception

of recognizing it and it not recognizing you.

Your self passing your self,

in the opposite direction.

The thought gives one pause.

You stop, contemplate,

when you say goodbye to your self

and it does not recognize you

the way you recognize it,

does not acknowledge you,

knows you not, even though

you throw a stick at it,

try to make its shriveled head see,

beady-eyed see that it was you,

how it made you stop momentarily

in your squeezing back into that black hole

so like shed skin, sloughed off,

not capable of understanding it was you,

the mist lifts, a thirst quenched,

and on your belly you churn on,

know in your cold heart you are better than it,

a king alone soon to be crowned perhaps,

regal in your gift of knowing.

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