Sh

Humanity’s collective conscious is a dog
dimly waiting in an empty house for what it can’t remember
Humanity’s collective conscious is a domestic turkey
hypnotized by falling rain, unable to save itself from drowning
Humanity’s collective conscious is a mother baboon
fiercely unwilling to relinquish the corpse of her days dead infant
Humanity’s collective conscious is the U.S. Forest Service
economically measuring woodlands by the billions of yielded board feet

Humanity’s collective conscious, directionally impaired,
doesn’t comprehend which way it’s going
after two right hand turns ––
it is sluggish and clumsy
like men in three-legged races;
it is foul and tasteless
like too many cooks working one dish;
it is desultory and watered down
like collaborative writing;
it is mindlessly cheery and quick to outrage
like an arena of suddenly sour sports fans;
it is too late to the task
like a tyrannosaur hatchling extending its pink tongue
for a flake of snow, but catching meteoric ash
falling in a flash flurry, unrelenting
until the collection comprising the conscious
dramatically reduces, dropping away to one
where one is clear to think
one clear thought
one clear way
in one clear slow time
the beauty in the silence of others’ minds
the beauty in the silence of others
the beauty in the silence… the beauty in ¬–
the beauty

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