Can we fuse poetry and prose so they retain the strength of beauty yet avoid the artifices of rhyming and meter and the sometime lack of clarity of stream of consciousness as we call wanderings that sometimes wander pointlessly or with too many points without the discipline of wandering in a circle around one point whittled down to an elemental piece of meaning like the "atom" that the Greeks thought could not be cut because it is the smallest thing though smallness is not what I seek nor inability to be cut I just seek the center of my thought and I can only visualize a center if I wander in circles for circles have centers and lines do not thus now I wander and wonder what is the idea at the center of this thought and I find that the idea is that we have lost our memory and what I mean by “we” is the conscious surface of this globe and in particular one part of this self-conscious surface called human and alive and we who recognize it as such and are proud of the apex we imagine we’ve attained yet it seems we have no memory just as no one remembers being a baby because one presumes being a baby is so different from everything after that it simply cannot be translated to memory and the center of my circular wandering thought is that we are not conscious backwards before babyhood we do not remember our long-ago mothers or fathers or cultures no cause only effect and as I continue to ponder and wander in this circle ever mindful that scorn attaches to a wandering mind that wanders too long without “results” I squint and try to focus on the center of my thought and recall that the mystics who renamed themselves physicists cut the atom into "particles" that multiplied many times become the atoms of our selves and I think surely if I pluck one particle to inspect it must contain the memory I seek but it does not submit easily to my glance because our multitudinous communal particle consciousness creates an interference pattern with the memory of the solitary particle which we deem not conscious anyway and by so deeming close the door to its memory, so circling circling it’s gone I can’t do it I can only guess and circle and wander and wonder if I should put on saffron robes or live my life and get results some other way that the particle conglomeration of myself can see and figure out because I cannot answer the question at the center of my thought and I am barred from my memory.
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