You ask me what I know for certain,
but my memory often lies.
I remember and forget trivia at random
with just the blink of my eyes.
What does it mean for me to know
anything about meaning and life
when lies and doubt are carefully sowed
to keep us down in eternal strife.
I know, je connais
that there is a sun who will rise and fall.
It doesn’t matter what je fait.
There will be a lingual wall
that keeps hearts shriveled and weak,
as we greedily consume horded grains,
soaked in ill-gained, spoiled confit
from salinated and bloodied plains.
Je comprends, I understand
that there will always be people smarter than I,
who can correct my techniques at hand,
and warily watch what my nerves belie.
Yet there will always be that greater nous,
a heart of le monde, a collective memory,
where consciousness starts anew
between anxious futures and polluted history.