Magnum Opus (Revisited)
Each day, we inch closer towards the supermassive black hole that gives us a stability, and will one day inevitably consume us.
Each day, we inch closer towards the supermassive black hole That gives us a stability, and will one day inevitably consume us.
And they will grab you tightly; as we dance, holding you tightly—
With their aged hands made up of the hips and crotch of fireflies.
They will drag you by your knees, bringing you to your birthdays.
Like the fractal patterns, the wallpapers of your womb bed, so long ago.
Because from the early age of these womb dances you were taught
That the dirt underneath your fingernails was just there and meaningless.
How quickly we have forgotten the sheer amounts of civilizations
That laid underneath our fingertips, between flesh & nail.
How quickly we have forgotten to lose our ventilation at a kiss
With our minds that have found the constant of autopilot.
The blackbirds will recognize the musk scent of your hair, remembering you.
The magnetic fireworks, the mustard gas, your important past & flower tombs.
Gently— gently rest, child. Drink the soothing milk from the cattle or rivers or lakes.
Connected to the oceans, created in the image of you:
This is where they drag you, now.
Where they play minor thirds on detuned toy piano keys.
Where the school bell rings only at midnight’s stroke.
Where the fields grow only when death stops his carriage
waiting for their frostbitten faces to blonde.
Where the harmonicas force the winds to settle.
Where the volcanic ash arises from the infant phoenix.
Where the kisses from the broken necks of officers’ mend.
Where the flower boys from seven generations of passed freedom are jailed.
Where the true love of teenaged plight goes to cry, and cries, only for a while.
Where they drag you now, ghosts stammering towards the grass.
Do only one thing for me, and promise me this all isn’t a dream
or meaningless reflections of parallels.
Promise me a less harsh divorce, find me yourself and tell me who they are.
Whisper your brilliance and dreams out against these untouched white sheets.
Because every day, we inch closer towards the supermassive monster, giving us relevance.
Plead with me, listen to her echoes, for we will one day become history
and the distant kettering of Amerika will be forgotten.
Plead with me, listen to her stuttering, and do not tease or bully her
for not knowing the routine, or the fragments.
The universe is too young to handle it, and do not fall in love with her
for not knowing her routine, slowly colliding, then reaching never again.
Because we will, inevitably, always dance within her winter, where the dust is blind.
Because we will never know the breath inside of her, where the patterns collide,
And crash, and burn, and eventually it will all forget all the scripture before.
Because this failure is only debris of an otherwise perfect human consciousness.
