The Mechanical Garden

By | 1 May 2020

To think, to know that this precise angle of light, this hue of
sunset dripped all over the marina, and this turn in the convo
were all caused, to a microscopic t, to the slightest twist of

All paths turn curves and lead in straight astray plot, by the Big
and branching to the mechanical garden Bang, completely and
where photon cogwheels tinkle down a ray without remainder;
merrygreen as chlorophyll molecules harden that this includes
where Ben Joe John Alexei Stephen Katia all internal sensation
and I throw a recurring poetry party and experience. The will is
where in the garden library the teas unwilled; it is self-coercive.
are spiked a tooth so you feel more at ease I am not at liberty,
but if you peer into the deepest wellspring I am not at liberty to
you reach realization past all helping change my will, I am to it
into the nature of the mystery seemingly a voluntary prisoner,
where myriad particles just bounce around since a free choice is
along the great pipeline of destiny in fact a compelling absence
where no foothold of freewill will be found. of it. “The illusion of
what the English call the free will,” as the Indian prophet put it.
And since I’ve freely willed to own no assets, there’s no leaving
a will in the other sense, save for the small comforts of a poem.

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