That Conversation

As it happens, I stop and listen to
the nothing (I am a part of) and thus I
  memorialize the world (the vast and
   varied numbers of my synapses, my
    dendrites churning, charging, mapping
     and remapping) by ignoring that it is
      shadows, touches, temperatures,
       scents of a past I neither agreed to
        be part of…or verified as real…with
what we imaginatively call reality being
what we all accept and advance from
  but, ask a bee, an ant, an elephant,
   a whale…a pine tree, a mushroom, the
    mold on bread…any of the billion other
     species all gathered; dusk-stained
      clouds on horizons of filth of dirt and
       disaster, ask them about god, their
        creator…their alpha/omega and ignore
them because we think we know already,
are so very, very sure…and I look at my
  hand, study where the fingers attach
   …close my eyes, see them move, feel
    them a part of me, part of what I am
     and it is my brain only, my thinking
      that makes me who I am what I am,
       where I am and because I have the
        means to recreate inside what I see
and imagine outside we are fool that we
know, that we are the center, the alpha,
  the spindle at the center…but it is exactly
   what I should think, what our brain’s
    shape, size, structure has all conspired
     to create what/how/when we think…the
       smallness and the greatness, electrical
        and chemical, different because of the
number not of the kind so ask an ant, an
elephant or mushroom who is god and
  the lesser numbers of connections will
   just deny them, will not deliver the justice
    of participating in that conversation.

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