Loop Running

One take on the hard problem
Includes the suggestion that first
Your body does the thing and then

The neurosystem interprets
The action as having some emotion—
You smile or guffaw, and then,

Since you have done so, feel
Mirthful. If asked, you will
Confabulate something sensible

For why you felt that way and
It made you laugh, which, in this
View, gets the whole thing backward.

Maybe. Philosophers and scientists
Are too much in love with
The counterintuitive. Always a thrill.

But in any case, maybe also
Dreams are something the reverse
Of this—the system in dreams

Really does emote beforehand,
And then the poor, dreaming self
Is left to rummage for the stimulus,

Emotions then the weather of dreaming,
Seeming kind or ominous, detached
From the heavier scenes on the ground.

Too Much Obliged

We don’t like obligation. If
Science is a social construct,
Obligation surely is.

That stops no one being fierce
In demanding obligation
Of others, preaching

All are obligated, and
Occasionally suffering shame
And anxiety over meeting

Their own obligations,
As shifty and uncertain
As those may be. Shame

Is a human repurposing
Of social subordination
And fear of higher status apes,

A lovely new kind of dread
In which one carries the alpha
With you everywhere, displayed

As displaying, inside your head.
You have no obligations, silly
Animal. O be joyful, instead.

Inner Weather

Inside of them,

Clouds of meaning

Were rolling this

Way and that, but,

Outside their heads,

It rained or not.

Outside of them,

It kept raining

Or maybe not.

Life in the Sun

Meaning is not what this does,
Meaning, not what it tells you—
We mean, this life in the sun,

On its back, six legs wriggling,
Struggling. No, you don’t love it.
You’re not a lizard. You’re not

A bit keen on eating it.
You’re a little revolted,
But you recognize its life.

It is alive. It ate things
To get this big, maybe things
You clumsily left for it,

Your bits of waste its pastures.
And it too, too actively
Reminds you it’s an agent,

A complicated system
Of nerves and muscles striving
To keep going, keep going,

Keep going, keep going, pause,
And then again, keep going.
It does indicate some things.

There’s lots of information
About life, about insects,
About parasites and hosts

(Like you, it’s probably both).
But don’t ask it what it means.
You mean what you mean by it.

Innocence and Privacy

We’re flirty with these gifts
We’ve got we didn’t ask
For, aren’t entirely sure

We want, although we feel
How well they protect us,
Conscientious parents.

Desolation isn’t
Only a luxury
For the young in cities,

Who may yet get the call
To step into the light,
Understudy over.

Far from the light, that dark
At the back of the stage,
The theater, the street

Of theaters, the great
City itself, cities
Themselves—not wilderness

But, you know, in the cracks—
We old, cloistered poems, each
Elderly Héloïse,

Still spotless and all that,
Twirl and send out letters,
Since no one will read them,

Pretending we are safe.
Assault and mockery
Are rarely our concerns.

If you want privacy,
If you crave innocence,
Pray God’s indifference.

Electrolysis Dissolves the Grains of Salt

It’s a clever system, wisdom—
Infinity pools thoughts swim in—

Never infinite, nor ever
Coextensive with an ocean.