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Strange 2


                           But if you heard a tree speak in its own voice
                           would not that voice seem strange?

                                                 —Edith Sitwell

Look at the places between the stories,
the narrative gaps. There is where
the best hope lies, in the fractal absence
of generic complexities.

Let me speak to the oracle that wreaks
prophecies of future mental activity,
acuity, of the simultaneity of the stimuli,
of obsession with measuring
the magnitude of strange.

And now, when it's too late,
I wish I'd kept a box of unopened letters,
or wonder if I should wish I had.

The study of humanity
leads to self-loathing.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.