Shell Game Poem by Patti Masterman

We're born half-blind,
shrieking, covered in blood-
and we tear our writhing body,
from anothers living being.
Life can only come from life,
it's blood for blood,
a body for a body;
something much greater
has assembled us
from the many parts of itself.

And because of our immersion,
our favored position in the galaxy,
near all the innermost secrets
of complexity,
some hidden part of ourselves
can now construct a universe
entirely from scratch:

Even now, universes are sprouting inside,
just waiting for the next quickening to arrive-
our little puppet personality is only a shell,
cradling an explosive event.