Howie Cheatham and Wynn Moore

I...she...he...we...us...them...they...it...

Letters of the alphabet.

Trapped by time with meaning.

And so I wait, doing what I've been told, directly, indirectly, by invisible and imaginary means.

I think I know the end.

I know better.

Better that I know, even when I don't.

Someone else has another idea.

In other words, no one knows.

We're trapped together in the cube, the sphere, the simple shapes that imply the existence of a labyrinth, spiraling yet squared, three-dimensional yet flat.

One told me it is an entity called Gaia, of which I'm but a drop. Gaia, then, is all the gods, the feelings, the itches, the intuitions. In other words, nothing.

Everything.

The letters of the alphabet.

Clues for the clueless, still deciphering Morse code on top of a Mayan temple.

Give them alliteration and anagrams, crossword puzzles and cartoon conspiracies. Beware the person(s) promoting ideas in the arena of vested interests, even tangentially. Gains equal costs. What are you willing to pay?

In childhood a marble with a strip of brass wrapped 'round. Inscribed like Sanskrit scrolls or Aboriginal codes, a saying, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." The Golden Rule, as in "those who have the gold make the rules." All in all, a play toy, a game of jacks.

The moral of the story: the answer is outside these words, outside this species, outside this planet, outside this solar system, outside the galaxy. Thence, outside.