MICHAEL SHIRZADIAN May24 did i matter any more than i do now? was i more or less important, , squirming in the darkness ofmy mother's womb: one of a thousand midnight moths congregating round the rusting city lamp? was i more kinetic, pushing, screaming, clawing, crying from one cold darkness to the next? why did i search so frantically for a place to dig my fragile feet? propelled by existence? oh to tell that struggling babe of his external ambiance! to whisper in his forming ear; to persuade him not to cry, not to 1nove, not to come, to remain in his lesser darkness. condemned, i sit here in another darkness striking at an old keyboard. you read my notes. you exist with them. do i equate to any more than these? we both exist. we both form. like my mother rounding, we were made. 19
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