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institute Sesquiotic



That car swerving as it slips
up the street is the secret
of the universe. No, wait, maybe
it's that one. I can't tell
anymore, people gather in cafés and
sipping hot drinks I hear them
discussing nirvana, or what of it
you can see from seated within
a taxicab. When the light changes
the world stays the same but
everything is different, that is, not.
The woman who just peered in
the window where I set this
down is definitely the meaning of
existence. Or, well, it could be
that one: her legs are shorter.
But when the choices are all
spelled out as on a menu,
how can you not pick one
and in a moment pick another?
Between now and the end of
time the key to everything will
be everything once and nothing forever.
This blue-clad chair, that dust speck,
cashier number seven at the supermarket,
crinkling clouds and vapid grey birds,
naked mole rats, the neighbour's rottweiler,
your mother and that guy who
cut you off at eight last
night, all are God, I guess,
but only because they don't know,
and maybe not right this moment.
I'll take this one, how's that?
Call me tomorrow and I'll know.


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