This living,
absolute drive
toward an impossible goal, is
search
for the concrete perception
of the transitory dissection
of its ghost.
Children of a dyslexic god,
we propagate white noise
with our symbols
(ephemeral--scatters sense)
1 0 0
(read:
one hundred
or
four, or
nine, or
sixteen. . .)
is alpha
A
or
degree of dissociation, or
angular acceleration, or
half of god. . .)
Our logic
forage for our children
as our fathers' was
for us.
We systematize this riot
regulate,
label
packets of chaos
discrete only to us.
Dendritical future
linear past
(flatline with a million facets)
we, agents of that which we oppose,
add faces to the past
in memory
in history
we miss the process
formulating names for it.
This eye where we breathe
is in and of our mind(s).
We are as much
the storm
as is the wind.