Magnum Opus

Every day we inch closer towards the supermassive black hole that gives us stability. (control)

Incendio del Borgo | Source

Every day we inch closer towards the supermassive
black hole that gives us
stability. (control)

and will one day
invariably
consume us.

and they will grab you; as we dance
holding you tightly — with their aged hands

(wine) made up of the hips and thighs
of fireflies.

they will drag you by your knees (skull)
bringing you to your birthdays.

like the fractal patterns, the wallpapers of the newborn
bed, so long ago.

The blackbirds will recognize
the musk scent of your hair —
the magnetic fireworks
the mustard gas & flower tombs.

gentle — gently rest, child.
drink the soothing milk (baby)
crafted from the cattle or lakes.
connected to the oceans, composed of sadness,
where they drag you, now.

where they play elevenths on detuned toy pianos.
where the school bells ring only at midnight.
where the fields grow when death stops his carriage

waiting for their frostbitten faces to blonde.
where the harmonicas force winds to settle.
where the volcanic ash arises from an infant phoenix.
where the kisses from the broken necks of officers mend.

where the descendants from seven generations of freedom are jailed.
where true love of teenaged plight goes to cry, for awhile.
where they drag you, now.

(candles) stammering towards the lens.

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 yourself and tell me who they are.

whisper coffee or dreams out into untouched
white sheets.

Every day we inch closer towards the supermassive
monster that gives us relevance.
plead with me, listen to her echoes.
— we will one day become history.
and the distant kettering of America will be forgotten.
plead with me, listen to her stuttering,

and do not tease or bully her,
for not knowing the routine, or fragments.
the universe is too young to handle it.

and do not fall in love with her,
for not knowing her routine will cause
improper heartbreak, never mending.
because we will, invariably, always dance
inside her winter,

where the dust is blind. (prologue)
because we will never know the breath
insider her,
where the patterns collide,
and crash,
and burn.

and never forget the scripture.
that the failure
is merely debris
of an otherwise perfect
human

consciousness.