J'cuse me, I am worth nothing more than the sound
of one hand clapped
to brow
so low

what was I thinking contending with kings?
lowbrow roots remain,

I once was laughed at for saying dirt farmers were
enabled to hear the voice of creation,
and contend for right to use the knack
to form holding patterns and maps
to meaning never realized true.

Ezekiel level riddlers
sunalizo,
eh?
Being assembled in one breathe able bubble
not of our own framing
at the core.

Seed level and beyond,
Life's the game we endure to the end.
Today is the day we survive,
livin' by rules,

imagined as good enough to grow on, back when
we
made'm up,
muppit wise as wishers were, back in the day,
back
in the world of men.