• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 11
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We were moulded

We were moulded

from the same clay, which puts
more or less work into disguising it,

And so we believe: a difference.

One a warm kneading of charcoal and
protein: its elastic, yielding
properties increased with each push

of the hand. Beaten in, not the white
of an egg, but the slate of November

One a bar of industrial calculations:
we must call it reason, reason,
as it parrots its numbers and pretends

no-one else has eyed the slight bend
behind its desire for levers
and clutches –


We were moulded

One a marvelous exercise
in misunderstandings: not one but two,
not two but three, not three but more

ideas rolled in a ball of orange yarn.
Should we observe, unravel it?
Our science says: a disorder,

a personality. Are our plasticities
compatible? Who knows. This world
is too complicated to grow

a judgement, cut a ladder from
the body of a tree – what then?
the doctor says: sit down

and peel a tangerine.