born, all
Born all appetite and perception,
you forge, then smelt again myths
when they finally warp into cartoons.
All the while dark masses
move through you. They
are most of the universe and
are not unless you look at what is not,
unseeable except for the absent, and that’s just not okay,
if you would like to really talk about it.
Frailty, thy name is truth.
So, it’s just too bad that most
of reality is immeasurable, save
it’s complete absence in the proceedings. Longing
for the not seems one’s lot. But
this is nothing new. I’ll have these
thoughts when no desired presence presents.
Then come the categories, scions of
Hunger’s landed legions. And it gets worse
every day, til this blue dog
shakes us off or takes a bath in
poison. Or until we reach
for the actual stars and
track down our real parents:
Let em’ know what we’ve learned
so far, promise to visit
more often – though they appear to be
enjoying their retirement. It’s
not that they don’t care. They’re oblivious.
They don’t remember the nest, much less do they miss it. They’re
not even there.
We only had to reach for nothing
with all that we had left to,
ya know: keep in touch.
Cartoons are right: who
thinks about them when
the shit really blasts
the fan? center of mass to force apogee.
Event Horizon indeed.
Wednesday, January 28th, 2009