2006.06 Inside Job
The somnambular peregrinations that we like to call the life of the mind
are seldom interrupted by ideas.
Still, it happens.
A butterfly flaps its wings in Java, causing an earthquake in the mind.
A bug awakens in some dell of memory and becomes a colossus,
straddling the continental lobes.
The faintest whistle, growing unheard like the corn, suddenly house-high,
bursts like a banshee out of the blue-blown sky
and finds us standing in the tracks.
Why weren’t the windows closed on Elm Street?
How can a bullet do gymnastics?
How could a caveman beat a multi-billion-dollar air force?
How could those buildings fall straight down?
We think inside our minds how it could be
that so many could die so strangely
until one tells us, screaming through our deafness
“We didn’t die. You did.”
What are we but ghosts, waiting to be born?