We aren’t, necessarily, up. Beat not
beaten, we feast, and we will be. Come,
tell me, what information can’t be held in
our fatty acids? Immodestly, we’ve had both
the morsel modified and not. Its tiny bits mix
in us and with us, so it can inform us
forward with a digestibly new identity. We have
eaten more than this too, and it’s all in us,
with the knowledge of a world less well-preserved.
Less is on ice, but there’s more for us to taste,
and it’s the more and we’re the more. We
know of it, what it is that can’t get inside of us
if we don’t eat it. Let it, get inside, it won’t
eat at us. It won’t, it can’t shake us from
the unusual way we’ve wobbled through
a closely-measured firmament cold-packed
with these immeasurable clues. We’re no less
permanent there than this half-shell is here. Fixed
by a thin glaze, it awaits one sun, or the tide’s finding
its stomach again for mollusk, fine sand and pebbles.
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
We aren’t, necessarily, up. Beat not
beaten, we feast, and we will be. Come,
tell me, what information can’t be held in
our fatty acids? Immodestly, we’ve had both
the morsel modified and not. Its tiny bits mix
in us and with us, so it can inform us
forward with a digestibly new identity. We have
eaten more than this too, and it’s all in us,
with the knowledge of a world less well-preserved.
Less is on ice, but there’s more for us to taste,
and it’s the more and we’re the more. We
know of it, what it is that can’t get inside of us
if we don’t eat it. Let it, get inside, it won’t
eat at us. It won’t, it can’t shake us from
the unusual way we’ve wobbled through
a closely-measured firmament cold-packed
with these immeasurable clues. We’re no less
permanent there than this half-shell is here. Fixed
by a thin glaze, it awaits one sun, or the tide’s finding
its stomach again for mollusk, fine sand and pebbles.
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