Thursday, September 11, 2014

9/11/14

Palinletum
By DS Peters


One day you will find this
in a slow tumble drifting
surrounded by the dust and debris
the dark matter splattered with mottled DNA
the refuse and shards of memory
the vibrating strings and infinite nothings
the leftover scraps of our self-styled lives
these rusted chains and barnacled anchors
one day you will find all of this and allow it to float
into the great black wyrm of the multiverse
I hope

You might wonder what happened
or perhaps you'll know too well
having passed so close to your own self-annihilation
yet you survived
and thrived to flower into this burgeoning
bounding, singular multiplicity
this search and salvage civilization
this conglomerate of survivors
and knowledge delvers

the excavators, as it turns out
sifting through the spinning dust
the dreams of eternity
forgotten, fired, and ashed
iris drinking deep a dark beauty
cravings of the flesh, delusions of a soul
Jiminy on a fiddle, tapping shoes
and the heart of a child in flight above the zephyr clouds
nothing really
but sluggish rivers at night softly gurgling
beneath the brightest white of swiftly falling snow
warm lips on cold earlobes
and love only love everlasting love gentle love
love on the fingertips and on the breath of the last goodnight

all obliterated and particled
unraveled into the most basic components of indetermination
sub-atomic yarn frayed and singed
each dimension a fuse leading fire to the next
the first dimension now a drizzling splat
the second a wire crinkled and throbbing
the third dimension a splinter-misted wraith
the fourth is filling with a yellowing pus
the fifth and sixth are graveyards for abandoned dreams
the seventh dimension is tangled in a loop
tangled in a loop
tangled in a loop
forever reliving the ascending fury of its own demise
the eighth is a wide-eyed and whispering fear
the ninth, tenth, and eleventh are calmly waiting, clasping hands
and the twelfth dimension smiles, as it has lived through all of this before

One day you will find all of this
when the division of days and nights is no more
and the apex of midnight envelopes every sight
and you will endeavor to understand the obsessions, the drawn lines
the minds that could not process the sensory uploads
all of it twisting in the wake of a ruptured Higgs boson
all of it transfixed by the gravity of the mirrored singularity
all set aglow by the energy of the devouring wyrm's spindle-spire
and all returned to the dark fabric
to become precious potentiality once more

if you will only let it go


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DS Peters is a writer, a traveler, and a plotter.


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