Slobbering at the matter pageant

Or: Complexity in a lining cell

A person. The subject of all our literature
when all the little systems around us, cellular
and meek, is one face one minute and another face
when they hear you out. The drunkenness of being
four limbed and fifteen-headed in a world drafted
for consumption by a dumb old sun. Economics
of the universe, plain as it is. Instance one:
you take any that filter meaning from the music
their old mouths garble out and present them,
an apple in the mouth, to a similar sort of trout
that dealt all through fat space with the nag
of stomping on and on through the lightyears
fiddling in boredom with his genitals,
mighty photocopy him, and he’ll ask, he’ll ask
which side to cut the fat from for boiling.
If we talk to our species, one in another asks us why.


~ by Jeremy on June 28, 2012.

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