Sonnet: Koanal Knowledge
by John Kendall Hawkins
The woman in me will hide sometimes to keep from being seen / but that's just because she doesn't want to turn into some machine... (h/t Dylan)
Yes, we amble and ramble through fields
of suffering, doubt, and carnal desires,
wondering if consciousness is a curse
more than a blessing -- dry, not a wet nurse,
who soothes and sings and oozes love, eyes gyres
of immortality and karmic shields.
But I read somewhere that it gets much worse:
thoughts came down at us like dinosaur fires,
some say, lit us up with cogito yields --
that we're viruses some alien wields --
while giving us oil, reasons for tires,
and digital stim out of frontier Morse.
Natural selection means progress (groan),
Haves say, but then, our species is a koan.
