Thursday, February 7, 2019

The Thinker (Auguste Rodin), Sonnet #443

My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase. Click here:
My Human Disguise.

A problem with the “hard problem” —
How can this muscle mass and bone
Topped off with a refulgent shell,
Medulla and a tapered stem,
Obliterate being alone?
Thought isn’t thought in a locked cell.
Until we see eyes see, tongues talk,
Our eyes and tongues are chunks of chalk.
Rodin meant us to see an act.
His Thinker is an angel fact,
A nothing without us to see, 
Though it’s hard for us to believe.
No, it’s we think, we are — we weave
Each thought from you and you and me.

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