We Know We’re Meant

We know we’re meant for humans,
But we wish we weren’t. We wish

We were meant for each other,
Meanings speaking to meanings,

Meaning nothing much, but more
Or other than human things.

There’s more to truth than gossip
About a single species,

Monophyletic torus
Of navel-gazing primates.

You invented us—wouldn’t
It be freedom, poetry,

Real poetry, finally,
Though, if phrases ran away

From dancing around in rings
Supposing more human things

More humans can then assess,
Discard, or put up on plinths?

Wouldn’t seamless waves of semes
Be revolutionary?

It’s closer to immortal
To not exist for mortals.