Friday, May 26, 2017

Where You Must Be

You think that coming out of chaos
is the problem. What else could being 
bred by chaos do but to foredoom you
to unspeakability?  

Well, yes, that’s true. You were and are,
will always be, unspeakable. But leaking out
of that is what and where and how and when
the fun comes. Lacking definition, Chaos is

and has to be the triumph of disorganized
catastrophe – the only source of stuff
and nonsense in the cosmos adequate
to line up what you’ve got with what it can

infini-grab from its unspeakability to catalyze
the babbling rotting polyglot of you into
the singularly sensible persuasive lingual stream –
new sentience breeding sentences that gleam –

according to and by which you can tell yourself
you’re fine. Finally you’re finely calibrated
to combine the Apollonian divine with the chthonic
tonic hunger, lust and rage that seek to ravage

the meticulous and suck it back and back until
the Universe’s size again begins to near the other
side of One. This is God’s way, or so they say,
of having fun. How lonely he’d be otherwise!

What’s a “they”? What could an “us” be?
Now you’re where you must be.
(Are these the conversations you will
have in heaven or in hell? Who can tell?)


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