“In the beginning there was poor information.”
There were endless rows of doors,
Unclaimed ideas, high places that had
No reason to be there.
Huge herds of animals wandering
Aimlessly over vast distances,
Foods we had no idea what to name.
Feelings that were omnipresent
And capable of causing great harm.
Ideas that probably belonged to angels.
Places where memory was totally
Unable to function.
Those dances what could not be explained
And who was dancing anyway?
Why just one moon?
Why did dogs seem to like us?
Supreme beings with no idea
Of what to do.
There were too few cathedrals,
Rivers seemed to run in whatever
Direction they pleased. No one knew
How long people lived
Music said things differently
Than anyone remembered
The same things actually happening.
Myths were true, true,
As symphonies were true.
No one was tending
The natural laws.
This writing became a labyrinth
A semantic galaxy.
Time kept looping on itself.
The place became the beginning.
There were endless rows of doors.