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.