The human is a contortionist
Bending and folding into boxes
Dissecting the world into words
Trying to communicate to…
Who? no one really knows
We just do it because we do

And in our prisms
With ink spilled
With erroneous conclusions to come to
we share a shared unknowledge that we are not who we are
but some other

Becoming restless
We all conclude
We should go ‘back’
Whatever that means
As if we left somewhere

When we get back to nature
It is said
We will understand

To which I must ask
When do you claim we left
That to which we are intrinsically attached?
It’s the words we use that built these walls

Language, a microscope to help communicate
About the world
But we forgot to step back from the scope
And see we are within
all the things we point to ‘out there.’