Today, in search of sources
of resources of new intellection,
you have somehow managed
through a coalescence of reflection
to produce innumerable minds
beyond whatever you’d been
born with. You found it wasn’t hard
at all to generate this loose
profusion of collective brain –
colluding in a sort of musical gestalt
of theme and strain which wove
an aural prologue to an exegetically
unprecedented genesis of thought:
an intimately, intricately satisfying
abstract web in which you happily
discovered you were caught.
All you wanted really were
the sounds of many words.
To sing to you like birds.