Whose Fault Is That

Yes, and that was okay, too. He would be wasteful. And then he would be dead.

Will it matter if you decide

It doesn’t matter? How sneaky

Would that be, hey? How like this world.

Haven’t you ever thought a world

Needn’t depend on paradox?

Sure, maybe it’s language’s fault.

It’s probably language’s fault.

There’s probably nothing at all

Paradoxical to this world,

Except, well, this world invented

Languages, maths, and paradox—

That is, unless you think people

Are not entirely from this world,

One much-loved theological

Solution. We do kind of seem

Like breathing, bleeding animals,

Though, don’t we? And our added ghosts

Seem to roll with generations,

Ebbing or accumulating

And mutating like anything

Made of living matter. Now there

Is another paradox, no?

How the immaterial is

Manifest in material

And how the material made

The immaterial a thing—

How you’re matter that won’t matter,

Not to you, once your conversion

Of matter into matter takes

Away immaterial you.

What a waste of material,

Awareness of material,

And yet how immaterial.