We keep struggling to experience what
we already know. We can’t remember.
Why? Perhaps our cell cycles, their secret
society—mass producing members
for such brief existence—withers recall
with every minute life’s sudden ending.
Is what we deem memory, after all,
only instinct? When we long for blending
to families and tribes, is this merely
cells’ magnetic power? Cytoplasm
sailing nuclei toward collision? We
base our relationships on orgasm,
accept each war as though it’s religion,
dismembering bodies with precision.
Roger Armbrust
March 19, 2010
