Agnosis

A free thinker is so flexible she is stubborn too.

She is so free she cannot choose.

The Professor of Life says
we are constituted of matter and only matter.

Next class.

The Physicist, scarce embarrassed of God,
preaches that
of matter there can be no solidity,
of light there can be no mass,
and that gravity itself weighs not.

It is a hot day and between classes
at the university

I notice that the same sun shines on the philosophy and math and biology buildings.

It is hot, real hot.

real

My tongue is glued to my palate.

I am matter.
Matter is capable of consciousness.
God is that consciousness man speaks of.

Some days I do not believe in greater or lesser beings.

Today I am a common miracle,
bound to the corpse of the universe,
exceptional furniture because, of all the fineless wood, a fragile embryo kicks in me.

Death is the only gesture of motion.

Only the old man who owns the warehouse sits in one of its many chairs.
Tomorrow he is sunk, out of business. He’ll move his fat ass and I’ll join the rest of the heap.

My atoms on consignment….

I am the semiotic of threadbare mechanics, lamely flagellating