of our thoughts
as cosmic objects:
true, most of them
are space junk—orphan
asteroids and comets
with tails made of dust
debris, and ice chunks—
but a few bright ideas
really capture our attention,
and we call these
main attractions
stalwart stars
and pilgrim planets.
But we mustn't forget
that, from masters thesis
to default-mode chatter,
all of these are really
just disturbances
of matter
in the vast and untearable
space-time known as
consciousness,
bending it and warping it
to their own
obtuse purposes,
but nonetheless always
so hopelessly embedded—
so enmeshed in the limitless,
and purposeless fabric
which is alternately
known as "what it's like"
and "how it is."
