Planets forming, bubble pop off against one another
like wax in scalding infinity, sound effects would be flatulent
if they existed, instead of being locked in a cone, the light glowing
through from underneath ceiling circles
of the shadows made, forming singularity future of all
one, stretching bonds become invisible, forgotten like
fruits of friendship, making for a mystic
hypnotism, the lost art of chance.
Turned off, it’s but silence and potential
blooming royal purple-hued, stillness shouting commands
for the penitent, cinder hands of stillness, paralyzed
of the truth raining, or so one would think,
missing the slender grin, imbued with the knowledge
of man’s inhumanity, the cell of the world, finding it in
power of a heartbeat, voices within will be
contented finally, for better or worse.
The clouds hold no wisdom, in truth
but what comes from within, shadows of regrets
victories and decimations, the win column
marked with a scythe, the blood of penalty, gut bile
planting plunge, pulled up screaming, coughing up
universal truth, revealing a pitiless peace
unbounded by need, desire all but nonsense
now having seen this, we know it as genius in wax.