brain

i – parched in desert thirst – wander upon
a crouched blind man,
who holds his brains in his hands.

i ask him,
“Sir,
why carry your brain as you do
in this desert heat?”

he stares with milky eyes toward me
and says:
“my mind is filled to the brim
with endless sorrow
and i aim to remove it.”

and proceeds to take another bite
from the already moth-eaten cortex.