What Do They Care?

Jan 07 2017

I trace a drunkard’s path through time and space
that starts, and stops, and casts light into loops.
Accelerating on the planet’s face,
I take a step, and miss. I’m weightless—whoops!
There goes my mirror image of the world,
a mere mirage, a snowflake in the sun
that glinted as it rode the wind, and whirled,
touched Earth, and then decided it was done.
I do not know if this is what you want,
this carousel, these zoetropic slits.
I think that God would save us, but She can’t.
“He” is a “She.” They tell me either fits.
Which one is “They”? Why do you care to know?
“They” are to us as solar wind to snow.


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