By the Power of the Grazed and Culled

“I now pronounce you, Cosmic,” the gelatinous, feathery, aubergine spindly figure solemnly spoke.

Repetitious vibrations, open-ended questions, salty convection currents
all stacked to a head, to the spear of a mislead, starry night

where gifts on camel-back came lumbering over dunes and through oases
to be proffered at the chubby feet of a newborn, fists covered in linguine
for he came too quick and couldn’t be cleaned.

“I now ask you to make your decision,” cold and slippery fingertips trailed zig-zags on my forehead.

Be at peace in space-less time and time-less space, Now.   This instant.
Wait for sun-drenched bliss at the end of this human intervention,
And never again shall you return.

Or, be at all heights and depths in any space-time continuum,
bending, mimicking, crunching, and re-aligning.

Come in skin, come to dine, come to shake off tattered pride,
for the thousandth time,

Then you never have to be here again.

Which one will you write?

— yiqi 31 march 2015 5:28 pm


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