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.