I am not a person;
I’m a system
of nerves, of curve and loop.
I’m hot quark soup, a bit unruly at first. Take small sips.
But I can also be, quickly, two-plus-two. Lemme elaborate:
I like to snap shots of the everyday
and stare stare stare into them,
budging their molecules ever so slightly.
Look, I’m not what you’d call
a sustainable universe;
I tend to be a sometimes-rotating body
that refuses to tilt and wobble.
When I look up
my stars stay put, forever and ever.
Note: I’ve read tips on how to create a perfect sphere.
The trick? Practice.
I’ll have you know,
the spherification process
is nearly complete.
At this very moment — like right right now –
without the sinking weight.
How does one come to this place,
This emotional swatch bearing the boring,
yet stable sweeping array of grays,
is good enough for me.
But I know soon the spin of color will come,
and grays will give way to anything from periwinkle to Van Gogh,
recalling, reminding, dreaming, confusing – then, terrible recognition,
with a mien like the glint of a blaring sun
careening down the bend of a gold ring, demanding white-hot logic,
only to promptly wink out of existence.