.
If we were radially made of lines and every line had
consequence, what fate would we then face? What
template would we be? Could we be erased?
.
Or undermined by our own underhanded
wickedness, refining us insensibly into barb-wired
fence, or reprehensibly into an indecipherable mess,
.
a bungled chaos nothing could resolve?
Could we caress or be caressed without entangling
our linearities, with no hope of redress? Would there
.
be any countermanding essence into which we
could dissolve? Or would we find we liked to be
geometry? What would it be like to feel?
.
What outcome would our being radially wired,
wound, rewound, aligned and realigned reveal?
Would we be real?
.
I asked this creature all of that.
And it said, “I don’t know,
it’s no big deal.”
.
.
.
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