the vane of existence
swims in spinorial fluid
where count matters
where you place
your faith like abram
points like parables
and tracks traceless
skydancers
falling
spinning
playing
the oldnew game
“impossible!”
she exclaims
“that…that doesn’t mean anything!”
scurry along now
and stroke your pet parrot’s lion mane
living in the cross correlations fused
by your last universal common ancestor
spitting deoxyribonucleic acid rain
do you think i’d forget?
who do you think started this game?
she scoffs and storms off
mumbling “and on easter of all days”
smirking all the same
“let’s just pray there are no more resurrections to play today!”
“go and tell no one!”
and she had me on her way
