swimming through a sea of simplifications
what appears to be understanding is only a
semi-coherent copying of classic chants
a superficial smoothing
convincing us that sandpaper feels like silk

through a fog of
and a veil of

we build artificial boundaries
to replace competitions we have lost
we destroy enough of what we've made
to avoid facing what we have won

the closer we get to clearer
the enormity of our ignorance becomes

the dark matter between our thoughts
separates us like distant galaxies
the more we know the further
apart we appear to be

we marvel at the simple obviousness
while trivialising the complexities
with one foot on the savannah
and one hand on the Moon
like a strand of silk stretching out of sight


filename = juvenilia.htm
printed 28 September 2022
© Huw Powell