It wasn’t fair
the first clueless amino chains
spiraled rightward in
newborn tide pools,
and now most people
are right-handed.
Or that the frontal lobe
grew dense enough
to become a seat of consciousness,
living anchored
to the mercy of nerve endings.
Or that the heat death of the universe
means souls aren’t immortal.
The first stars
can still be seen as quasars,
and now we ruminate
gods into being
out of longing.
Our glass psychosis drove us
to sophist alchemy
because our language
could never reach them.
It isn’t fair
that not all infinities are equal,
and each day gestates earthquakes.
The tapestry of life
reads like a contract
we never got to see,
until it unfolds
through kinetic connection
and mass casualties,
leaving nothing behind
but soliloquies.
