Minimalist Title and a Concept

And the man with the battle-bruised segmental fracture fists turned to the cylindrical tree
And asked,
As you are a wise tree of such a unique shape, I must know if I am the self of tomorrows past
or the momentary projection of a conscious spirit swimming in a perceptual slew of todays
virtues?
The tree shed a leaf and observed a drop of rain, now multiplying.
What difference does it make? Your existence in this interchanging moment is undeniable, when
all else, consequently, is.
The tree paused and saw a ray of electric energy piece a nearby farmhouse, setting fire to its
mahogany foundationWe serve witness to a recurring pattern of chaos, always singularly consistent in form while
simultaneously imploding within itself against a vacuum.
The man walked home and thought on this until the wrinkled hands of tomorrow drowned this
form towards oblivion.
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