poem

 Aphorisms For Understanding

Incredible the lodging, but limited we guests;

we talk of wild animals when we’re the only ones;

we, sprung from the cage; the others

tame, following the majesty

of Sun and seasons.

We, the animal which can remain on friendly terms

with victims we intend to have, until we have them;

whether it a fool on the boulevard or spearing prey

in forests and oceans gray,

is that not eternally us—

a most perfected beast?

Civilization has rendered us,

if not more bloodthirsty,

at least worse and meaner than before;

where almost everyone now

has something in their nature,

which if expressed openly

would give offense;

to have not one dolt

or beggar as family

is to be born of lightning.

We are a busy, mischievous, wretched thing,

no better than what we despise in the wild,

a masterpiece if only because

no amount of history can prevent us

from believing we are free;

and if angels watching,

they must behold

with such supreme

astonishment,

our vanity. And yet,

had we created us,

we’d be ashamed of our performance;

all the while equally and capable

of seeing the nothingness from which we have emerged

and the infinity in which entranced;

mind’s thrown into such close, sad, and inexplicable relations,

atop a fragile and precarious object, the human body;

the wonder is, not that the field of stars is vast,

but that we have begun to measure it;

where truth of conscience couples

us to this lodging,

this windowsill

upon all as yet known.