If we imagine intelligence as a flower in the fruition of the evolution of the universe, then it would seem that the finest fruit of this flower would be the universe awakening to its self.
The May Pole
we are the May Pole
mummified
in wrappings of imagination
dancing round are a circumference of lovely demons
weaving with colors existential
the life that will entomb us
drawn to accept vagaries of the sun
can we accept the certainty of the moon
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