Wrong

 

You're all wrong.
Every damn one of you.
How do I know?
I'm wrong too.
I'm better than you at being wrong.
I've been wrong since the Big Bang.
Even that's wrong.
There was no beginning.
We're ever-evolving mistakes
in a sea of eternal perfection.
When you add and subtract all the Buddha's
little blunders,
the sum is neither greater nor less
than one.
Yet without them, there's no dance.
Any mistake might be
the serendipitous mutation of blessed chance
that ensures our survival,
O graceful sin of Adam!
How could we encounter a butterfly
were it not for the grisly mishap
in the cocoon?
How could we enjoy popcorn
without the hunchbacked caveman
who tripped over his enormous feet
spilling his seeds into the fire?
Where would you be without your mother's
uncarefullness about the moon?
Were it not for our sacred stumbles
there wouldn't be a damned thing
but the unbroken symmetry of a fat Zero,
frozen mouth of a silent God
yearning to say 'O!'
in a dense white hole
from which no Word escapes.
The people we need to watch out for
are the ones who are right.