Our Unique Hubris

You measuring with sticks
sizing up the exteriors
will not be able to hear
the pulse or feel the drumming
of the fingers of humanity
until you pull apart the oyster
shell of the skull covering
up what makes us us.
You will not know man
without fathoming the making
of his pearl, his broken and
ever-and-a-day healed-up
chain of crafted accidents or
his empathic hunting.

Will you with your implements
the tapes and pins and markings
that have lined up the long scratch
of the equator on earth’s belly
stare into your database’s glass
ball to envisage a woman’s curved
and dependable attachments
or point at and name a child’s
love of anything that bounces?
Can an analysis explicate how
buttonholes work how guitar strings
are tuned how meals come together
out of inkblots of leftovers and
guests? I didn’t think so.

You with plumbline in a hole
can you pull out a good story of
how we invent by pulling apart
how we order by stirring up
how we carry and perpetuate
such nonexistence as histories
in genes and emotional tendencies
how we provide care to the rich
letting the poor die to become
kindling in the dead of winter
the difference robbing the sum
while the whole flowers like unseen
particulates of spore and pollen
like March’s deadly liveliness?

What will you say in observing
through goggles of roseate and grise
our rolling along on wise wheels
of rubber pulled by horses
on roads where there are none
into clouds by adding wings
over rubble of mistake and din
to a city that will let us in
and give us jobs where we toil
day and night repetitively
then after a year arrive at a theory
about what we have been up to
allowing our local team to cobble
new rules tossing out the old?

I am a human and a member
in good standing of humanity.
Can you with transistored jargon
immobilize and specify me?
Why I sit after standing and stand
while sleeping on top of a peak
statuesque and wanting to leap
into dreamy ocean with dolphins
where I might click with them
breathing in air not living there
wondering what I have in common
with creatures without conscious
appreciation for their captivity
in a shared but unique hubris?

Understand me and understand
those around me who are not men
but give me my manhood like bees
give reproduction to the trees.
Bipedally I compose on the flute
songs of opposing thumbs in a jar.
Drape me in togas or sunshine
and watch me cure my own blindness.
Put down your tools and join me
in a chess game of esprit de corps.
We made science but we are never
going to figure out more
than what it takes to live better
than we ever have before.

Advertisements

About mrsorenson

all over the place
This entry was posted in poem, poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s