Faulkner
I wish I could show you the source of my amusement but I
can’t it was delivered in an ice box three hundred million years
ago and it has been there since anticipating time or the mind
that will discover time on the shores of some mossy
simultaneously existing/non-existing primordial earth It sits
there silent and square totally emotionless to the tiny grubs and
centipedes that crawl over its smooth porcelain skin Totally
inert but inside it is something that will outlast the shores and
water even the sun and myriad furry life forms that will bump
and crawl their way to the edge of their individual eternities It
is there denting the sand silent unmoved not feeling hunger
because hunger isn’t yet thought of nothing there to think it not
happy because happiness is still unboiled stagnant and cold as
unreal as the possessions and human bodies that will
someday give it birth
from The Dryland Fish, 2003
