But We Know Nothing of These Originators

Your culture is a ready-made,
Part of a long parade. One may

Assume the assemblage began
At some point or points in the past,

And likely things were simpler then,
But you don’t know that. Once again,

You were born to a cavalcade
And costumed before you could speak,

And you can’t see the beginning,
And you might as well be the end.

The undercut cliff called What’s Next
Defines the entire parade route,

And the whole thing is being built
By the musicians and jongleurs

Even as it proceeds, while here
Comes the most remarkable thing—

Whatever instrument you play,
And however you play it well,

You are only a mobile shelf
Between someone and someone else,

Parading for no audience
Outside of the parade itself.