self-exam (my body is a cage) by Nick Flynn : The Poetry Foundation.

Do this: take two fingers, place them on
the spot behind your ear, either


ear, the spot where your skull drops off


into that valley of muscle
& nerve—that is the muscle that holds up


the skull, that turns the dumb bone
this way & that, that nods your face up &


down when you think you
get it—press deeper, touch the little bundle of


nerves buried there, buried in
the gristle—the nerves that make you blink


when the light bewilders you, that make your tongue
slide in & out when you think you’re in


love, when you think you need a drink, touch
that spot as if you have an itch, close your eyes &


listen, please, close
your eyes—can you hear it? We think our souls live


in boxes, we think someone sits behind our eyes,
lording in his little throne, steering the fork to


the mouth, the mouth to the tit, we think
hungry children live in our bellies & run out with their


empty bowls as the food rains
down, we sometimes think we are those


hungry children, we think
we can think anything & it won’t


matter, we think we can think cut out her tongue,
& then ask her to sing.