A bizzare, surrealist experimental poetry performance I created in 2012.
Last night Luna rose
over our Eastern Sea
like no human’s ever seen.
Only one porthole view
through deathly clouds
incubating the Great Egg Harbor.
Luna rose a perfect circle
tossed by Myron, now in suspension.
Remnants of Theia reflected
in alien orange,
brighter than Sol
(whose rays provide color
still, but not the same).
As lightning strikes purpled
the Atlantic structures underneath
the ocean rose with Luna, rose ominous,
pillars and pyramids stood naked.
Our nation, in three century utero, collapsed
off the coast of New Jersey. Another failed experiment,
another corrupted civilization left to liquid, then to ash.
Fear, survival instincts in full swing
while operating machinery speeding
south on a bowed bridge looking
east as Luna rose. Death
embodied in the sky
explosions, natural explosions
in natural grandeur white death.
Luna rose as she never has
as illusions nullified fear was reality
at its clearest. Luna rose and she never will
in similar form, life and nothing in one moment.
The storm consumed the atmosphere. Consumed itself.
Atoms vacuumed into oblivion.
Bovine humans munched cheeseburgers
while driving through dark energy warping
vapid brains. Magenta tissue bled
out sentience. Luna rose.
These humans were not scared
out of sheer stupidity. They felt safe
in their machines. Congested asphalt artery,
nine at night, Friday, June 13th, 2014.
Luna rose in proof of their ignorance.
She devoured particles in purgatorial drift,
planet Earth. Space shuddered Terra
dark matter pulsed into minds
people felt frightened
inexplicably. Immediate fear of blackness.
Animals froze in abeyance obeying nature.
Humanity continued to destroy,
to feign solutions, to pop pills,
to disdain their immune system
to ignore their self-inflicted wounds.
All the while precedents loomed
in the past. They never realized
they inhabited houses of Masonic stone.
Let alone understood that the Scottish Rite’s
preeminent child would fall faster
than those deemed lesser.
That the child’s scrapes would fester.
Luna rose on in spite,
out of spite of America.
Oxygen sucked out of air.
This time the fire.
Although pharaohs chose the stars
which killed their enslaved, unwanted brothers and sisters.
As the empire fell in pre-meditated fashion, the elite escaped
in Russian rockets. No more humans
needed for sustenance of the few.
No longer human humans would float
past Luna, and harvest her gray helium 3 tears.
Luna rose no longer over Earth
for there were no humans
left to see. Luna rose in witness
and condemned yet knew she could do nothing;
she vowed never to forget
until everything collapsed again. Luna rose
until the end. And as her visage faded
from the collective memory of all sentient existence,
Luna rose again, somewhere,
since death could never die.
Above small birds chirp and big ones squawk
though they can’t make the “s” sound.
Little blue ones and massive gray ones.
So instead it’s a din of guttural but how does
their gut, their collective stomach,
of shrunken former monstrosities sing in varied unison?
A cardinal is perched on a wire
where there may or may not be current running
calling to no one in particular and everyone:
“I’m here! Hello?” Tomorrow will be new
and the bird will decide not to seek for mates
nor seeds, he will leave behind his trappings
of normalcy and become a prophet.
Not sitting on an artificial line but diving
upwards while screeching into the air
so that he can rain back down in particles
of nonsense, but perhaps he’ll reach
far enough off this earth and sleep early
and never wake up again and become nothing
which is closest to joy he doesn’t think because he can’t.
every whitewash splash dousing light intense center cube
how they keep you in order to observe
eavesdropping on lonely creatures with company
make a serious commitment to be in love with death
the tarnish of a forgotten stone
getting there is lost
let go of your star seed you can’t see the same shadows
and outlines of color of the other
every act of will
is in memory of what never was
as you leak long and slow
worrying about rupture
all hunched over wincing
drunk off pain
you take a break from monotony
it’s raining outside right now
but that doesn’t matter what matters
is pain staring back at you thru a mirror
the absence of soul and meaning
knowing that if you could see forever
that there would be an infinite number of you
as the cold fluid supposedly water touches
your fingers suddenly stopping somehow automatically
when you should stop feeling
if only you’d stop feeling