Why can’t we read anymore?



Can books save us?
Chapters? Paragraphs? Words?
Is that overoptimistic?


I feel perfectly engineered, marvelous,
not limited to events.


Our brains, wired to the beautiful universe,
are important: a kind of glue that holds together
the world. I think, and knot together the fabric
one word at a time.


There is a special kind of tool that flattens one self into another;
there are, often, beautiful universes to be found on the other side,
though this constant hopping from one to another is also exhausting.
My days are exhausting days.


I exist, holding together the world.


So I started making changes. Random, usually.
The shocking thing was how I didn’t have to fight time and space.
What a wonderful feeling it was!


My mind, however, remains a problem.
If you have suggestions for that, please let me know.


(I am starting something new here.)


Image: reading water by Peter Werkman, published under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0) license.

The words in this erasure poem are from this article by Hugh McGuire; the theme was suggested by this article wondering what the heck McGuire was going on about. I added the numbers myself, and some of the punctuation.


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