2 1 S e p t e m b e r 2 0 2 5

Imago

a Poem by soma

behold! they said, so i became
the monster of their labor.
i clawed at my face and there
tore away the masks they used
to conceal me—

he hungers! so they fed me
fantasy and vacuity—
i grew fat with despondency,
dependency, disregard,
indifference.

my body became a tomb,
where i remained sunken and aware,
howling into the earth-molded
mew that confined me.

arise! they said, so i became
Imago—
split from my neck, i emerged
wholly myself, and
something else,
draped in gossamer,
undressed, unfurled, remade—
ergo actuality.

kneel! they demanded, that i might
devour myself again,
over and over,
return to child, larva—
insignificance—

but i have taken every shape—
every drop of dew on every leaf,
every rolling cloud over every sea,
every bloom and buzz and breath and beat—
i have been unbound,
and in my solitude
was made multitude,

uncontainable,
unstoppable,
unequal.