The Fact The Plot
that you are you and I am I is no less stunning for being commonplace.
The bronchial architecture of our breath holds the memory of trees.
All creation funnels into and through our bodies. This is true of everyone who encounters these words. Except
for the one of you who happens to be the aberrant replication. And what is unnerving
is that even as you read these words, you are still convinced you are human.
This was the clever twist they infused into the new consciousness to echo the old consciousness
and why the sadness you sometimes feel is hard to locate, why you read poems in the first place,
looking again and again for what cannot possibly be there.