The real world a mask
of mathematical strangeness,
every number line writhing with preternatural
insanity,
the crocodile lisping equations to a Pharoah
just before the sun
delivers the infant Moses into the wisdom
of the Moon,
and history assembles
the theory of evolution
in the Kings chamber
as dark as the soliloquy of the undiscovered God,
when.
*
A chirp of cherry wood, the human heart broiling
the soul over the brain,
wild primitive bonfires bursting out of the tongue
across the threshold of a stage
shaped a philosopher's skull,
every nucleus erupting with those ghost stories
so often told
by old women and children in the kitchen
late on some autumnal evening
when there is nothing left to explain,
save the quiet madness
that ends in terror, a smirk and the sight of the stars
rising into the night as if they were broken glass
reassembling.
*
And the whitecaps of silence, cresting in parallel thoughts---
I ? You? Who knows? A million words trembling on the tip of a tongue,
the strange dance of eagles
lifting through the bones
as civilization describes itself to entities whose names
were given with no warning,
lives bursting through the soil,
into shopping malles that hum with exotic paranoia,
a spaceship trapped in the suburbs,
full of plastic plants
designed by what men for what purpose?
*
Bougainvillea, the oldest divinity stalking
some jaguar puppet on the amazonian floor,
a rare hunt of lichens,
lemurs leaping into car chases that have no solution,
just the endless revolution of
extinction, like the dragon itself shrugging off
memories it cannot explain.
*
To live in the light of the guillotine,
illuminated by one's own ghost smiling,
moment by moment,
the blade falling through the skin
like the tongue of God licking it's own wounds
in the silence of the unfinishable creation.
*
Linear causality, the great myth;
the universe billowing in Elements,
Hydrogen Curtains, Uranium Prayer Shawls,
Golden Threads, a Shirt made of Oxygen,
cloaks cloaked by the naked flame of the endless thermodynamic
paradox,
the perpetual motion of perfect unresolvable stillness
spiraling through the white noise
of Now.


Salon.com
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