We travel the same paths
As our ancestors did,
Tricking ourselves into
Believing we’re doing
Something better,
Standing on the shoulders
Of their acccomplishments
And patting ourselves on
The back, boy, we’ve come
So far by our bootstraps,
But we don’t see the rest of
The bodies burried below.
We circumnavigate the
Surface, saying we’ve seen
It all, but so few know.
Who among us is ready
To excavate the petrified
Statues in tombs untold?
In this womb we recycle
The stale air of every man,
Woman, and child who has
Passed before us, and give
Ours to the generations
Not yet born, you see,
All our words are stolen,
They were never yours
To breathe. Puzzles
To be pieced together in
Innumerable ways, free
Thought exchange, rebirth
Through interchangeable
Heart parts, subatomic
Patricles in Pollock art.
It is only in the rearranging
Do we craft a new start.
