Saturday, July 14, 2012

Inviscid Flow

Fictional realities fade into
an abiding injustice always
the most fantastic, unkempt dreams
fibers of the only truth known to man

This is living, again.

A need,
an insignificant need
for wanton desire
Atomic, carbon explosions
Mushroom clouds and tumors
To live without them, death
To have never known them, sleep

Beyond ideas
all is nothing
nothing "is"
all does.
and we.
such an impossible word.

without need of forced meaning
or mattering
and without practical application,

This is not insanity.
This is blood.

Incandescent endings for troubled tenures
Wayward the weary
Weary the waiting
Fevered searchers find
paralleled perfection for
promises plucked like fruit

Beauty escapes maddeningly tragic ends
as the split pomegranate
reveals its million dawns,
and the disemboweled apple
a solitary star.

Only by such brutal means
with juices spilling
the start of decay
does the vision exist

Beholden to perfect skins
hiding the fearful infidels
Apostates of wonder
no longer curating curiosity
or breathing bountifully

Heretics of love
pretending to carry on
lamenting knowledge
and time
and crystalline minds
shimmering in the old light
of yellowing disfigured stars
leaving trails of broken rainbows
to dance happily
on the crumbling plaster
of our shared space

For even when iron hope
rusts closed the doors to bliss
Planes still fly close enough for
sonic waves to peel my flesh
And boats still sail fast enough
to suck my lungs of air
before Bernoulli's equation suffers
the shock and every parameter shifts
to drown in the undertow

Fluid dynamics, love.

Compressible flow
striving for understanding
of myself in these laws

We will lose it all
to the tragedy that befalls
the greatest thinkers
and the most passionate poets
their suffering, their perfect beauty
likewise, ours.

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