Right now I cannot prose my way into or out of a paper bag. I console myself with other words.
Explosions in the Darkness
(130917 - Union Hill)
Now ever only always everything
that is never anything but stardust
frantic and gooey stardust
nervous and worried distillation of the heavens
Now driving and honking and cursing
Now eating and smoking and singing
Now making love in a bed
knit from corpses of stars
these orbiting and colliding bodies
all sinews and electricity
firing along channels of galaxies
to move this or that limb of a constellation's child
long since dead
in an elegant waltz
or a bar brawl
balls of burning and glow reduced
Now bipedal and homeostatic
Now laughing, Now dying
Now stepping through branches
of once bright halogen sky-fires
to stand in a field unsheltered
feet firmly on flecks of the sky
listening to the chorus of creatures
passed down also from above
Now looking up at the expanse
at the lights beyond lights
sensing the tug of distant relations
of unnamed brethren
who some odd ages ago
passed into the cold
of an eternal empty expanse.
Now feeling so very small
so very all alone
and not at all actualizing
the embodiment, the heritage
the unlikely existence of being
the living breathing offspring
of explosions in the darkness
-Jn
