Mind Your Head

There is intellect
and there is grace. There

is the grace
of the intellect,

and there is the intellect
of grace. Look — outside

the school, a milk carton
bleeds out

on the sidewalk. The dog
licks its ass

then its wound. Up
above, a cloud insists —

for a moment — upon a crude
self. Compassion is a bell

curve with sadness
at each end. That you’d

take pain
for a knife

is your problem
but it’s not

your fault. Line
the doorway with foam

orchids and watch people
pinch the petals to test whether

they’re real. Do you see?
Where we are, physics is

our allowance, leaden
miracle, mother

tongue of all
tongues.

You can touch God

By means of delusion

Only

Romance has been achieved

I was lying

Prostrate on the carousel

Like a good neighbor

I contain my ego

Inside a smaller room

Than that

It keeps me in

The beauty I bow to

Commits its violences

Routinely

I have nothing left

To say

Some needs are

More sacred

Like truth

You bore me

Your belly

It all

Spills over

re/on Nguyễn lives in New York and is the Communications and Publicity Coordinator at Wendy's Subway—a library, independent publisher, and collaborative writing space in Brooklyn.