A Beginning  (a literary work)

The Universe, our universe, the Milky Way galaxy,

 The solar system, our solar system, the earth, our earth,

The United States of America, Arkansas, Johnson County,

The river valley area, Clarksville, our city, the north side of that city,

Harmony Road, my street, 1204, my house, my house if I pay the mortgage,

 The taxes, my warm house in the winter if I pay my utility bills, my front room,

 The alcove of my front room, my computer desk swivel chair, is where I am, this.

A literary work cannot be defined,

So say the literary experts of our time.

Extreme intricate details to the point of excess,

 But that excess is beautiful, says who to whom.

I say this about that: Have we stooped that low?

Have we stooped so low, to not define our ego?

I welcome you to my chair.

 Let’s start over, let’s start again,

 Let’s have a new beginning, let’s refresh.

Let’s start at the earliest we can remember, okay?

Let’s start before you knew what it meant to be jealous.

Let’s start when your mother or nurse fed you that first nipple.

Can you remember back then, back when -- you had no need to share?

Was it your crib mate, was in your mother, or was it her mate that got fed first?

Why did you want it right then, why were you in such a hurry to meet your need?

What is the human condition that a literary novel must describe?

How many words, how many details, how many times do you need?

To be told where you are, who you are with, what you are seeing, what you need.

Pick-up a book and read the last page, are you in such a hurry to not run the race?

Where are you going, where will you be, what do you want, what do you need?

Another nipple of feed?

 (If you saw yourself above, a few times, then it qualified as being a literary work, I say.)

A literary work must not simply give details, more than you would want, it must describe a human condition. – Uncle Wayne (Dated tonight: September 30, 2009; 13.7 billion Earth years after the big bang of our universe.)