Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Of Clay

Does it give you pause?
That you exist atop a stack of wonders,
that you think, feel,
taste,
and move of your own accord?
Beneath these,
so poorly fathomed, the depths
of neurons, chain reactions,
streak lightening in your skull,
shocking muscles into action,
whether you know it or not,
and you breathe,
sweet, destructive oxygen
and iron, pumping here and there.
You self-replicating,
self-repairing,
self-conscious Golem.
To what will you turn your powers?

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