The Point

poem by Ken Holmes, Summer 2011

We emerged from ape
By making points:
Killer points, cutting edges

It still goes on

Stomachs filled, battles won
A fight for even more light
Moved the edge from out to in

Something other than physical

Having made those points
We sought the point
To slay sickening doubt and fear
To feed a soothing illusion of "knowing":
An inside ... clear

And this is the point

If the whole point
Were that there is no point?
Who could take it
Without going ape?