Anonymous

Diary
2002-04-26 03:30:24 (UTC)

Chance

Two chromosomes split,
a hundred million little
genes, like ants,
cross the bridge
and we are made, created
in the inductive logic of
probability,
who we are because our little, swimming genes
arrived at the train station on time.

Had fertilization, sterilization, happened
from a twin egg,
twin sperm,
from the pool of many million seeds,
we would face life with a completely different
life, mind, different to the very soul,
our flowers would have different petals,
our souls different masks...
pollen grains.
Logic created us in a torrent of
sensual passion,
like a great goddess born of the mind of a greater god,
senses bow to reason and our
fathers give in to the nights.
So, here we are, with
souls we have grown used to,
souls we now claim have been ours all along.

But which of the millions of
understudies did time
and passsion and creation forsake us?
Those beings in the world of forms...

Woven into each other like
three pleats in a braid,
the elements conduct their orchestra, while we watch
on the sideline in impotence--
songs that create our bodies,
like a butterfly is created from a single seed
from a daisy.

Even my eyes, my expression, was created by chance.
When I think of this on a warm day,
perhaps my confusion is really just
intuition falling into place.




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