It had occurred to him suddenly,
That his memory of childhood
May be somewhat clouded.
Unclear, unreliable
Like an old car,
Sputtering, jerking…
Real events jaggedly interspersed
With television episodes he had seen
Stories he may have heard,
Things that might have happened to others,
There was no way of knowing.
Everyone was dead, gone.
Or just flat and lifeless.
But who's to say?
Could anyone answer my questions,
Verify my experiences --
Who's to say?
They could be lying
Or simply part of a matrix of victims
Whose unknowing minds are programmed to intersect
With mine for the purpose of providing sustenance
To a force beyond the scope of our perception,
A decadent race of creatures
Far advanced from me -
Who, themselves, are but cattle
For another, more ancient species
Of self described intelligence-
Russian dolls sequenced
In graduating degrees of evil-
Each doll eats her baby sister
Dog eat cat eat mouse eat cheese
The truth was that he couldn't remember
Being any younger than he was today
He had these images in his head -
Shaky, as if filmed with a hand held camera -
Of things happening with other people
But he could never find himself there.
He couldn't feel anything.
He could only see
A small percentage of any image.
The idea that there was a scope larger than that
Was purely speculative,
And unreliable at best...
Could life be just a moment
That doesn't end?
But blossoms into suns
And fractals into space
And wiggles into time…
We motionless
Radiant Buddha
Gracious rays of light
For every direction…
Life is tangent
To our eminence.
Finding ever new ways
To skim the surface.
Building its paradigms
On the conjecture of its credence.
But dancing rings of dust
Vibrate to the beat
Of the hollow log that I am drumming
So long ago
Yesterday... left of center...
South of kundalini…
I have a picture of that, too.
-- I think it's here somewhere
