“But the reasons we were given still matter, don’t they?”
It had been the same here for some time, before the goalposts moved.
Coincidence was cosmic, & correlation a thing.
Future became visible.
Our lens could tell us what we wanted.
Finite turned infinite.
Dared we dream a collective dream?
Or collapse?
Under the weight of how things seem.
And so it came to pass.
Plates in air do spin.
In and out we swung.
Every last bit of teem.
Intelligence of the Sun.
Cigarettes smoke.
Coffees drink.
That am I.
Different drum.
Different beat.
Q: What do you care about most?
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