Permutations of the Self

September 27, 2026 Poet:‍ Kelly Bowen ‍Artwork: Permutations of the Self by Cathy Dorris

Permutations of the Self

I am a cohesively incoherent mess

I think I’m clever, calm, knowing

But I feel Partitioned

Askew

Carved into individual bits that were shifted out of place

My all seeing eye twists and turns, directed inward when it should be out

And out when it should be in.

Don’t even start me on the others.

Closed when I want to see

Fixated on cosplay or some other masking of reality

Is that ennui or simply acceptance of whatever crazed reality I’ve stumbled into?

I can’t hear, though.

I’ve got a pounding earache,

Beating in agonizing synchrony with the trickling away of precious seconds

Time that I no longer have

To figure me out

This life out

This game out.

Maybe if I win, I’ll get my hearing back

But how the hell do I roll the damned dice much less make a move

When the table is turned on me?

Besides, are there really any rules that make sense anymore?

The thing is, I’m not even in control

My senses harden

Fade into the background tapestry

Morph into ritualistic artistry

All with the crank of a handle

Yet I have no hands

Two eyes, a nose and a mouth.

Ha. Right.

Did you know, if you have 4 movable parts with 3 options each,

You have 81 realities?

81 states or ways of expression or perceiving the world

Is any one of those true?

My third eye, now that is open

Sight of the soul without?

And the journey to get to it ... that’s the rub

Distance plays tricks, especially on a road to nowhere

At least the door of possibility hasn’t shut.