Like putting lipstick on a big rig
the dynamics of sun and stars, hi tech stretched taffy
planet caravans
cartwheeling and plummeting simultaneously
down the river of loose ends
Gears, cogs, ships and sealing wax eloquent
take turns startling the malevolent like scattered starlings
in a storm
The ice floes blow apart, crack in the scheme of things
where the gods dream, and the salamander plays its solitary
seventh dimensional chess
All breaths cease with a rattle, the final tattle tale evidence of
the body letting go its hold
I wonder if it’s surprisingly comfortable
a soft landing
or nothing at all
The webbed archways of empiricism in
the final analysis
dooom us to perceptions that pierce the mental fog
We war through flesh fields, atomized circuits cut into
bodies, roaring big machine screens
Cannibal highways sear us through and through
goreheads inside a collapsed interstellar hide
retreat: we know now what to do.