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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