Materialist mistake that which limits life for life itself – Leo Tolstoy
Note: This next poem is really a song with a tune. (It “came” to me it while working a second night job, in which I experienced that creative “high” that results from sleep deprivation.) It starts like a Gregorian chant and then loosens up and weaves between drunk-punk and the sound of Pewee Herman on speed. Instrumentation calls for sitars and rain sticks, drills and gongs, and the periodic sound of a hand grenade. It is much better sung, but then you would have to pay me a great deal to do it.
In the beginning
was …..
a wI N K.
a wad of heated ink
a dark dot in the dark
a bullet in the heart
of nada.
In the beginning was a point
An un-appointed point
A point without any
point
A point without any light
For the point was very fast,
and the point was very tight
In the weight of its monolithic allness.
ALLL-NESSSS
But then
that which had ever been
or that that was
just then, suddenly drew in
Thin
Dense
Hence, it exploded.
Bang ....
BIG BANG!
It sang
It rang, it ran
Like light poured through a fan
Zoooooooooooooming into the cosmos, even
As it was, and caused it.
In time, In time
The stars began to shine
Shimmer, shake, and roll;
Mutate and twine,
climb the periodic table.
And now
After billion and billions of boofs
What bounty that starlight has wrought
Andromeda to Madonna
Stellar ash to sequin
Primordial soup to Campbell’s
Molecule to Mandolin.
Oh,
The stars, the stars
Are shining on TV
And they and we and the screen and the sea
Everything is stellar, everything sublime
Everything machine, everything divine.
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