With scrunched and bushy furrowed brow I ponder precise circumstances when consciousness got born Tracing back lineage of self, an arbitrary individual unpredictable as the Dow Reckoning series of events sustained life similar to sowing seed of corn
Ruminating fragile nascent organisms at mercy of fate flourished, and how Taxing me mind asper each score composed bards to toot their own horn Aware just slightest off beat fluke
determined from millennia ago or now That particular organism, whether one celled entity or beings that can mourn, The loss of kindred members –
food for thought since pledging marital vow this poet, whose presence a fluke of circumstances possibly torn At any point in distant past rendering me absent unable to utter wow
At what crapshoot of circumstances wrought Matthew Scott Harris to be Cognizant of genealogy wove World Wide Web following threads back in time
Albeit not more than a couple generations – whereby emigrants did flee From supposed eastern European swath in general finding reason to rhyme
For no reason, just as other creatures great or small occupy themselves with glee Or just groveling along at bare ***** knuckle existence without a dime
Less apt to own luxury how **** sapiens purportedly evolved from mon-key Whereby harsh ill fate tempts them into life of crime When perhaps riches with kingly figures loomed large in family tree
Branching back in the day Glorious personalities populated genealogy to boot Twisting tortured destiny somewhere in one direction along the killer highway
Setting stage for rags, when august ancestry buried in loot Yet tis quite frivolous bemoaning present woes or even pray
To win lottery turning attention how our ancestral gingko or newt Dwelt in rich primordial egg drop soup wantonly in massive bay
Inexorably transformed (by dint of dice throw) per flora to take root As well fauna to mutate into species and genus on land to assay
Giving rise to variety to an assortment of animals and plants And this one speck of flotsam in particular owns a passion for contra dance
Whereby others – from massive beasts to self taught amazing ants Scurry hither and yon to and fro perhaps contemplating genetic grants To be alive for mere blink of an eye all due (in my view) to chance.
I had an *******. Not because I'm some sick **** who gets off on girls crying but instead, because I got to hold her in my arms one last time I found it odd that she was taking comfort from her insanity by confiding in the very person who had caused it as if she were finding solace in the arms of her problem and as the apocalyptic rain outside locked us in that car like a coffin I would have gladly been buried in I remarked to myself that her smell reminded me of cherry blossom trees. A tree that I don't think I've even even seen in real life, much less smelled before.
When I was in Korea I wrote her an e-mail It said something like "Hey, I don't know if you care anymore but you were right all along and I'm just now realizing that" I never sent it but I didn't delete it either and so for days afterward it haunted me My e-mail drafts folder screaming out the number "1".
After we were finished but before the dust had settled we spoke a lot about regret and she said things like "I'm glad we tried but we both knew it would end up like this." Well I sure as **** didn't. Why the hell do you think I tried in the first place. I think it became very important to her not to be one of my regrets. Which makes sense, right? No one wants to be a regret and so I resolved that if she ever asked me if I regretted her, if I regretted us I would instead ask her a question in response. I would ask her if I helped her in any way. If I helped her take control of her nerves If I helped her get a hold of her anxiety much like a sexually frustrated boy holding onto a crying girl during a rainstorm And if she answered yes to my question, If she said "Yes, Mike you did help me." Then I would answer her question about regret by saying no
I don't need to worry about that though. I don't need to worry about her asking me anything because since I've been back from Korea, she's said exactly three words to me. They were said at a party of a mutual friend of ours about six months since we had last spoken. The words were "Can you twerk?"
And if we take our imaginary camera now and shift it out of that house down the street to a new street to a new city to my street to my house to my room to my laptop to my e-mail drafts folder it still screams out the number "1"
And as we stood in the circle of our mutual friends and poked fun at a ridiculous dance craze something cut through the haze of alcohol that hung in the air in order to penetrate my nostril and for a brief instant I was reminded of a tree that I don't think I've even seen in real life much less smelled before.