The yellow flares of morning glory ushered in the call of creation with a Big Bang!
(All to confirm the apathies dwelling from my childhood)
But what do you notice first?-
The riddle of the laminate tiles beneath your feet from the rushing quake of a sudden earth,
Or the pulsing attack your inner war yielded ringing obliviously louder than any other cargo siren in the dawning of the night?
God is the train: spontaneously combusting perpetually,
Rebirthing our lives onto the checkerboard surface that is the Devil’s Playground faster than any decibel could give to the dwellers sleeping on the tracks of the stairway to their own bleeding sky catching the falling sun in recyclable tin cans and cups
This anxiety and everywhere you see around the ripped portal paints pitch perfect panoramas of how we have fallen from grace
The Circle harlot gossips into the ear of the 30th Street messiah,
The metaphorical She speaks so slowly, bending his space and time:
“In the beginning was the speed of sssound
…the speed of sssound was in the beginning”