Sunday, September 9, 2012

Four Million Switches for Twenty Thousand Lights

One entanglement creates another, 
Lives, meadows, forests, cities, circuitry 
All derived from the same mess of wires spooled 
Out of the furnaces of attraction. 

In sleep, the thing that is not me dreams 
Until I rouse myself to mistake it 
For some sidereal commentary 
On an existence that it only rings. 

And what it dreams of, recently, begins 
In a mansion of innumerable rooms-- 
Could be a king's palace, could be a tree-- 
Where there is never enough light to see 

But every cavernous wall is covered 
From dark floor bottom to dark ceiling join 
With bank upon bank of dials and switches 
That modulate the flickering story 

Fluttering down from a roof that might be 
A planetarium or actual 
Stars too far away to be convincing. 
And any one switch could turn off the lights.

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