Calculated.
Most of it is anyway,
after that moment of discovery
what some people call a first breath,
and others suppose it's the beginning of life
but the rest of us haven't been convinced yet
that we aren't really living amongst our own murderous
tendencies.
DOB, timed, stamped, and registered,
most of it is anyway,
and after that it gets really weird,
I mean,
it gets weird in this sort of
"out there in the world"
kind of way,
you were once apart of something,
now it's numbers, ideas of being, ideas of not being,
and actually not being.
But now it's mostly unexplainable,
bubbles in bubbles exploding reabsorption,
disintegrating reconstruction, like
the kind that weighs on you late at night
when enough wasn't enough and it's all
hidden away somewhere in that small
shirt pocket, right in front of everyone's
eyes, but you're a great distraction, maybe
the greatest one you'll ever be able to
present to the world, a card trick.
It'll be that way, we'll all be that way
for each other, card tricks, shuffling ourselves
into new decks of disappearing acts,
blowing away in the wind.
It's mostly unexplainable because
it's mostly uncontainable, forgetting
diverging, selecting for and against
worth or unworth.
The environment creates and
destroys you.
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