Pressure-sensitive Poetry: Idle Extrapolation on the Creation of the Universe
an expanding singularity creating
pure noise
Monumental foam rising in a desert sea
of waking
something.
The monsters and the carnivores of the soon
and the twisting never
The cancers and the throbbing monads
The green megaliths and groping
summers
The plush sentients
All at once.
Ascending mightily a broad expanse of unbounded
Nothing?
Surely not.
But all the same expelling passionately
the voidless form of before
to sum up into waves of sonic being all that
would pass for passing
all that would crash and scream and pass.
Somnolence
and indolent proportions
of waving wind spun across new fields
making bread, eating it
same machine
same egotist frenzy
Bowls of fruit were placed on doorsteps in vain.
All static in the composite universe.
Forms casting shadows
Slick thighs twisting light
All static in this composite universe.
Nothing that changes shall pass
None who whisper sad lies
in what passes for darkness
can quiver into nothing.
All static, all silent, all quaintly divisible
by two.
And it all bound together in an umbrage
of thought and exchange and excuse
pleading to nakedness,
sybarite sin.
Textured tread, unshed skin and moonlit
morbidity of sight
All bound
All synergized
All spoken in the same low monotone
against the din
of unspeakable
Nothing?
Surely not.
(Reptilian shivers
a picture of dribbled sunset
on waters of still need.)
And it all ended with none so much as a flash.
Ebbing tides seeping villaged idiocy into
the Socratic monstrosity of our cherished
sweetmeats.
Alleged night fell. Stars just predicted pinpricks
in the fog we drew
ourselves
imagining dangers
unbelieving beginnings without end
Unmanaging the polished chrome that lies about
above, equidistant from alone
to the sea.
Hived workers
riven lovers
All at once.
