Tantamount, to your every discovery—
Ache to quake in each boot you make your own, today,
Discoverers, brave explorers of inner space,
We stare up at the great black no more, it's inside
Us now, we've absorbed it ... like sponges sipping sea,
And so, we float patiently, cocked, in the squid-inked
Cold, stoked to omnipotence on Acapulco
Gold, cats grinning while the whole world goes entropic,
Sun's to a horizon.
It's there for all to see, in parakeet yellow—
A great orb, looming, its ever-present shadow
Swells in the sweltering heat of each dim new day,
We stand in a shelter of cool hurricane winds,
While off in the distance ... an ice shelf divides, splits
Off the size of New Hampshire, and goes for a swim,
Late winter to an early spring, but it's nothing,
There's a new opiate on the market, tight as
C. Little's new crack pipe.
From his stellar nursery he emerged, a giant—
Radiant and splendid, perfect in every
Way, hurtling through space, for how long, who can say,
Like a farmer, gone in search of rich black soil,
He planted his first crop ... lavished his attention
Upon it, watched it grow lush and green and healthy,
Registered in millions, the seasons came and went,
Until, one day, he saw a flash in the distance
Cloaked the Earth in darkness.