Tim Ray's latest poetry entry

The muse has come and gone and assisted Tim with the following...

i am sitting on a corner bench

watching the light turn green to yellow to red

regulating the vehicles of the doppelganger coterie

remembering Ronald Reagan, his creeping senility

for no particular reason

and i wonder, is there reason in our ratiocination

his wife's use of astrology in political decisions

Romans are the ones who widely spread this ignorance

and i wonder amongst these motorists

if anyone really knows who is at the wheel

there is a point to epiphenomenalism

reasons we derive norms from naturalistic fallacies

folk knowledge is in sad shape

one can prove a negative

there are no dragons in the fossil records

the motives between ought and is
leave me uneasy

why there have been no new anatomical designs

since the Cambrian explosion

our common alpha

evidently evolution became bored

possibly a limit to creations creativity

i suffer ennui at times too

maybe i reflect that here on the bench

humanity wandering in wonder

at times leaving it all to unpredictable factors

or assign to some deus ex machina

novelist or poet

scientist or artist

while others try and improve their lot

by having some croupier as a personal savior

altho they have never seen the rewards of this gaming table

or personally the croupier

yet all seem quite sure of just what is the game

a handwritten outline of the rules

that is not reflected in mere human musings

a product of some sort of afflatus

that seems never to wont for rules

inspired by some inner vague voice

and as St. Anselm trying to move from there

into some subjective objective answer to it all

failing i feel

yet they build monstrous casinos

fill the air with pleas and exhaust fumes

which is absurdity to me, but who am i

speak not of this to the height of encephalization

for they have mastered the green to yellow to red

studying the stars while mindlessly destroying their earth

exploring the universe, abandoning the one within

and in inner whispers they try to hide

to thine own selfishness be true

there is possibly a grand scheme to all of this

and i can't see the puzzle for the pieces

sitting here on the bench i wonder does anyone really know

just who or what minds the wheel

of a million scenarios that could have been

realms meant to be but a passing phase

with the night upon their lips, a niche no more

extinction and the rising sun in their eyes

our common omega

i am sitting on the bench pondering

the sound of a supernova

the sonorous moonlight

fog reboanting against the trees

didn't somebody else say that

in the end does it really matter

isn't this where St. Thomas Aquinas chose to exit

i am pondering once again

the obsessive intent of the leaf cutter ants

who pass by in the silence

green to yellow to red

sitting on this burnished throne reasoning it all

having burnt the anthropocentric altar in a futile attempt

to remove myself from the equation

failing in its verjuice communion

wishing all a good day

having come to an understanding

entropy and extinction follow similar laws

yet life raises its head

lives all the more, leaf and jaw

the wraith, smiling in a Spinoza knowing, moves on

our common omerta

Fergus Falls 96

Dedicated poetry on science/philosophy of science