∙ The tree that made the pencil

∙ The carbon that the leaves captured that made the tree that made the pencil grow

∙ The inside of the star that smashed electrons protons neutrons together to make the the carbon that the leaves captured that made the tree that made the pencil grow

∙ The explosion that blasted the atoms into an ever expanding self-organizing chaos that decayed into our current order that made the inside of the star that smashed electrons protons neutrons together to make the the carbon that the leaves captured that made the tree that made the pencil grow

∙ Standing outside your house for the fourth time today, me

i think about ambiguity more than
most people
i draw a sharp, thin line
around ambiguity
and press it into my pages
I slice through the guts of ambiguity
and diagram each piece
until I can see all
the unspoken things
that are transparent to those
who don't have my scalpel
I eat up and digest ambiguity
to see the impressions crawling
under my skin
then I spit it all out
back into its context
and watch it bloom in the pool
of its common ground

but the people I do think about
I have no logical blade for
their names were etched into my pathways
but context elided
and reconstruction is impossible
remnant revenants
with no interpretation