large round red puddle
blood of the dog that bit me
i do feel better

cognit discontent
cognition desire
the mother of movement
so says amoeba

the generation of knowledge
a task an event a time period
birthed in ignorance
no future thought just now
over and over creation here
the window of memory closed
on the thousands who first
built fire understanding nothing
except burnt fingers smokey eyes

someone asked me if
i was a robot writing
i do not think so

i is me you are
you they are them together
we are all of us

cigarette smoke in
my lungs bitter and burning
why do i want more

i dream of a day
when pain shall no longer be
oh so like a child
my mind grasps blindly