"The numerical tools that our brains offer us,
Apart from culture, are pretty blunt." One,
Not one, two, a few, a bunch, many, many,
Maybe a special term or inflection for things
That come in threes exactly. Everything else
Depends on just which massive, multibrain
Inhabiting ecosystem maintains things
In one's own particular brain. Culture,
In a word. Ideas and ideologies in two.
Language, language, language in three.
It's a trial to try to think through the thicket
Of thought-entangling, parasitic vines
That sway above thoughts' jungle floor,
Itself impoverished of independent nutrients
Thanks to the relocation of most resources
High, higher in culture's cathedral canopies.
The green, decaying stump of time that is
The only body an awareness gets to inhabit
Molders in the gloom below, a speckle or
Two of sunlight reaching down through
Many big ideas contending overhead. I am
The one thing that can never be made two
Or a few or many, although I am covered
In the creeping moss of all these quantities,
The one thing the mind does not ever
Come equipped with but is, which is none.
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