fragments, 10/23/02

[novapsyche]

We, particles of sun,
encased, entrenched, entangled
in these casks of flesh,
we cosmic dust children,
blown like chaff in a stellar wind,

we cannot help but clamor,
to proclaim all that can sound;

we cannot help but ogle,
to perceive all that can be seen;

we are organic black boxes:
instruments that record,
bearing bare witness to all events
that come to be.

Comments

[myelectricsheep.livejournal.com]

*ogles*