Whisk

A cloud of minor irritants
Intersects with the large head
Swelled by otiose ideas.

No, the hard problem is not
Consciousness. The hard problem
Is eudaimonic. Who lives

As an animal body
Who is not an animal,
And what animal is not—

However spiritual,
Metaphysical, saintly,
Scientific, rational,

Enlightened, well-intentioned—
Torn apart by hordes of flies?
Oh, there are legends, stories

Of dead people who did it,
Beasts who lived untroubled lives,
And always some con artists

Very much alive who float
An inch above their cushions.
There are good people, but who

Is beyond irritation
And beyond irritating,
Horse that never flicks its tail?