Buttons

I’ve been doing this thing

where I replay micro-facts

over and over in my mind

and obsess about the why—

Why does the octopus need three hearts?

Why are most of the world’s flamingos plastic?

Why is there is no such thing as almost dancing?

It’s four in the morning

and the heater is breathing for the room

and I can’t tell fact

from insomnia-induced existentialism

True or false:

The brain named itself

The tree’s darkest desire

is to be split by lightning

We will all be outlived by our buttons