If I understand you correctly.
If pigs fly and monkeys land on their tails
about as often as they land on their heads
and write the words of Shakespeare.
If Shakespeare turns out to be a group of monkeys.
If Jesus was just some wise guy,
not a three-stooges wiseguy,
but a man who exceeded in wisdom.
If we could somehow stop the warming.
If we don’t.
If kids could come well fed and well rested, loved.
If young people in America all valued
the thing young people elsewhere would
and have died for.
If I get old before I die.
If, by some happy chance,
someone discovers and executes
a cure for the ugliness, the stupid,
the indifferent, and rolls back
the fog of bullshit.
If men could get out of the way.
If stars, dead now for millennia,
are still shining brightly, if the past
is not even passed, if we are not alone.
If a woman becomes president, or a gay man.
If dogs have their day, in the sun, in dirt,
rolling around in the grass, eviscerating
all the squeaky-toys, unstuffing the plush.
If I am not mistaken.
If, then. If, then.
michael jarmer 