By Mark C. Hewitt
Sometimes it’s easy to forget that one is not in fact a biological
experiment. By which I mean
I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m doing in this ridiculous skin.
What in Hades
was I thinking about? I’ve heard tell that gaggles of the unborn
crowd invisibly
around copulating couples, vying for a chance to ‘get in there’
so to speak;
lost souls under deportation orders from Limbo and elsewhere,
hoping beyond hope
that passion may have eclipsed precaution on this occasion,
hence, perhaps
an opportunity. Yes, really, it’s sought after; an existence, here:
imagine!
But then, what was it inspired me to make precisely the same
miscalculation?
It has its attractions, of course, this place: all the crazy volatility
and mess and intrigue.
Truth is, I’ve been here now for over sixty-three years and sadly,
I haven’t finished.