.
(able but unwilling to stop evil?)
Epicurus has seen all this before
emptiness coiling-arching-ejaculating
little wriggling radio-sparks
(atoms, he calls them: the Indivisible Ones)
of spirit—the battle
between Ugh ice and Ugh fire
—he is prudish about such extremes
(through all of this
the submarine looms grey in the deep)
Now all aboard for everlasting frolic!
he giggles a little into his goblet
what is that down there in the sea-dark wine?
no it is nothing, only disturbance
see how I push against resistance
only so far
how I am directed towards vitality
towards love?
a wise man does not write his own poetry,
but lives it in the flux of himself
Now he writes future words:
intergalactic coitus that devolves
into satellite areola for weary Apollo
liquid fire—placenta folding upon itself
into life—O I have seen dust
scurry helpless, entropy
(the submarine ceases all sound
waits, settles, listens—something...)
in the mind's widening eye
it reaches/arches/st r et c h e s—stops—retracts.
—shards drawn each inexorably back
to the source where the fabric tore op...e...n
—to seal)(shut
to watch it all again just as be/before... these
are his future words
(the submarine slowly rises in the dark: hoist the One-eyed Lady
we are blowing our damn tubes down here)
with this my meditations are complete
—now where
do I get a blowjob
and a rare haunch around here?
.
.
.
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