in a browser (for Jim Holt)

What if last night’s fight
tomorrow’s accident

every cancer, heart attack, execution

Bob Dylan at Newport
The Rite of Spring in Paris

every damnation

every archetype
every analyst

each tearful confession
every prisoner tortured in a tiny box

all the money

Fred Astaire, Louis Armstrong

everything the scientists believe
– all those strings vibrating somehow –
and everything the religious believe
– God smiling upon us, somehow –

every Matrix movie, (even the sequels)

– You get the picture –

Every everything, always

What if all the above
in front of

is a hack

cobbed up, roughed out
the details left blank

and that something, somewhere

though we can’t say where
can’t even say there’s a ‘where’

has pieced us together
lashed us together
has coded us

and we are his, her, its
project or plaything

– and yes, people in
hospitals, prisons, paupers on the street
have imagined such a thing

for as
long as such things
could be
imagined –

But my point is not
to live in fear
of the something
going off to school to work to someplace we can’t imagine

or the notion that this something
will someday be bored with us
pull the plug on us
grow up, get married

if they get married in that place where somethings live

No, my proposition is entirely different:
if you could stand on a grain of sand
if you could shout, wave your arms
get the attention of
our maker
would you tell him:



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