"I'm not sure I even know grief, or the anguish of it."
Other bodies than this one
To which I am ineluctably apprenticed
Have suffered horrors I can't
Begin to empathize with properly.
That said, I, awareness coasting
On the storm of miserable physicality,
Have to admit that I don't know
What suffering is, actually.
I hurt. I have hurt a great deal
More. I have been stunned
And stunted by my own
Insensitivity to the hurt of others.
I believe this, religiously, no irony
For once intended: we cannot
Begin to comprehend, despite art,
Despite language, what it means
To be, truncatedly, a human being
Who is not another of the same.
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