Will of the Swarm
We shiver in the fetid moonlight,
like a thousand paramecia dancing
around a bulbous silent organ. Over
worlds we move, over galaxies, through
time. There is nothing outside of us, no finish,
no beginning. Only the preverse continuity
enjoyed by deities, things eternal, like stars
whose reality is masked by the distance
between their light images and their existence.
These things are we. Encoutering nothing
in the form of guns, blades, explosions, we
become what we already are and never were.
Strange gods, each of us, worms, cells, enzymes.
All moving through space, across time, that image
of the reality we represent yet don't quite embody.
We shiver in the fetid moonlight,
like a thousand paramecia dancing
around a bulbous silent organ. Over
worlds we move, over galaxies, through
time. There is nothing outside of us, no finish,
no beginning. Only the preverse continuity
enjoyed by deities, things eternal, like stars
whose reality is masked by the distance
between their light images and their existence.
These things are we. Encoutering nothing
in the form of guns, blades, explosions, we
become what we already are and never were.
Strange gods, each of us, worms, cells, enzymes.
All moving through space, across time, that image
of the reality we represent yet don't quite embody.