We are not first stuff

(There’s always an aleatory multiplicity that rumbles beneath any Apollinian order. There is no being, no thought, no theory that isn’t cobbled together from the materials one finds in her garage:  From the blog Larval Subjects)

We all add up to new creature
A DNA thing or idea on canvas
By grunge or a random splash,
Way we were born , mothered.

We are an aleatory bricolage
An amoeba with its false feet
Tentative in its fetal darkness
Where new shadows formed.

Shadows are real in a garage.
It is where we are assembled
And take on shape,new idea,
A bricolage cobbled together.
We are not  all original stuff.


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