Dust. Wind. Dude.

Before the earth became the earth, before
it formed into this ball of grand design–
Before the earth was nothing, nothing more
than dust, quintessent, minuscule and fine–
Before the man called Adam, being first,
became a man with hopes and dreams and lust–
Before becoming hunger, pain and thirst,
he too was nothing more nor less than dust.
And from the dust they say god made the earth;
and from the dust they say god made the man.
And to the dust, decaying from their birth,
they say it’s part of god’s eternal plan.
And yet it seems more simple to my mind:
That dust is simply everything, refined.

If I were nothing I would be a breeze
that starts from nothing, lives then disappears,
devoid of solid forms, formed by degrees
evoking neither useless hopes nor fears.
If I were nothing more I’d be a gale
that whips the water hard against the land.
Without remorse, relentless I would flail
the rocks of time to glasses filled with sand.
I’d have no name, but you would know my voice.
I’d live and die, then live and die again.
And following my path would be the choice
described by the futility of men.
I’d whip the chaff of souls of all who sinned,
but still I’d still be nothing but the wind.

A dude is just a guy like you or me,
an everyman within these latter days.
Instinctively he knows that he is free
to leave, although more frequently he stays.
He’ll stay when friends are boring, though he’ll yawn,
then laugh and tell them, “Dude, that story sucks.”
And after they have finished, when they’re gone,
he’ll laugh again as suddenly he’s struck
by something that was mentioned by the friend
that wasn’t quite as boring as he thought.
He’ll call on some pretense and then pretend
to be profound, although he’s really not.
He’s just a guy, a dude like you or me,
who knows that knowing nothing makes him free.

for Bill S. Preston, Esq. and Ted “Theodore” Logan

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