Because It Was the First Direction I Pointed To
The left hands we carry,
that imitates so well what
we call ‘the right’
keep telling us
there is nothing to it,
because they can do it,
and eventually they will
correct whatever it was
that caused the problem
of not being able to cool down
with just an inch of water
lapping against our toes,
which persuasive hands
have told us was fixable
because reality isn’t fixed,
leading us to believe
that eventually water
might start flowing upwards
in the brilliant, magical lie
told to gravity,
who insists upon its planetary truth,
which leading left hands ignore,
while the passive ones
obediently disregard truth
as an issue because fact is
offensive in both its smell
and its gait, causing those that
insisted we needed a king,
insisted we needed
a list of what is wrong,
insisted that we choose
which bullet is more painful
than the other, to wear the
self-appointed title of
‘Judge,’ even though it was
never our decision to make,
because we are still
arguing with the ineffable
about which way
is up.
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