tell me how it happened
we knew so much but this
we couldn’t know
we had such power
that to think of stopping was impossible
to speak it, death
this is what we left ourselves
this brotherhood
these stale defences
self-made
empty-handed
possessed of no inner life
partaking of no mystery
no raw internal knowings
the shapes of us proscribed
the tablets broken
the prophets’ voices stilled
our cells know nothing
born and borne in churning, soupy chaos
wisdom embodied new in every newborn mind
our cells know what we teach them
a limb, deleted
a kindness tasting more and more like fear
what’s the point of man?
what meaning in becoming so?
in mimicking the still point in this maelstrom
an embodied singularity
a fecund drop
erupting then forever calmed
what is a man?
what point
in ever
being
so?
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