Modern Aretology

I am the sharp beak of a bird,
cracking through a nut’s fibrous shell,
slicing the tender inside.
I am the cat who is worshiped –
curled in your lap, or
just as likely, not.
I might be killing mice
while you cry your guts out.
I am Mount Everest, or something like it.
Constantly conquered,
my might reduced to an overachiever’s badge.
But I get my revenge
on those climbers who don’t make it.
I am the skyscraper where billions are made
and even more hours earn
debt-laden huts in the suburbs.
I am the screen of all knowledge;
omniscient, or as close as our universe can come.
Every word, every image, every sound
flickers through me and onto you
like a snake’s eye on a mouse,
like a hawk’s claws on a snake,
like a gun’s bullet on a hawk.
I am the bullet, I am the gun.
I am the trigger, I am the hand.
I am the brain, I am the mind.
I am.

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