There's an old lady in your neighborhood who sits.
She knits and knits and knits.
And knits herself into existence,
She knits her aching wrists.

Her circumstance of birth
Is not like yours and mine
And the alarm of this discrepancy
Is sealed in strands of time.

It's odd, she never had
A mother, or a dad
But she knits them as she knits herself
And knits her seven kids.

Oh, ain't it strange?
Oh ain't life absurd?
It all checks out and comes around
But we only shared a word.

There's a man in Andromeda's sea
He's not like you or me
Because being that far changes you
Into something you can't be

But our thoughts could make him dance
On a giant knot of chance
And maybe all that space is full
Of books and beams of trance.

A tangent needs a touch,
And what could matter more?
Some dreams fall to obscurity
Cause no one's keeping score.

Oh, ain't it so weird?
Oh, but normalized!
Abstraction crumbled instantly
When it was realized.