“They say there is a God who can squeeze mud between his fist, breathe on it, and it lives.”



I love reading articles concerning modern science

Because the only predictable structure of our universe

Is universal boredom. It goes like this: paragraph by paragraph

I tally words I don’t understand, look up their meanings

And follow the web of corresponding  synonyms.


Then I picture a girl’s breasts, which, though not predictable,

Seems expected. But only because she leans too far forward

To glimpse the neighbor kids chasing a herd of bubbles

And the delicate shadow of the bra slips off her nipple.


What is memory and what was actual collide. Suddenly I am

Sharing electrons with a magnetic field that tastes so much like a neck.

What you do first is surprise the collar-bone with moisture

And withdraw just enough so she can only feel your breath.


If you do it right the skin shivers, and the rest, as they say,

Is gravity. Like the vacuum inside the Large Hadron Collider

Is just an absence of air and matter causing all objects to fall


At the same rate. That funnel of absence where Higgs boson

Are believed to appear seems almost as unexpected

As god particles accelerating through the eye of a child’s bubble wand;

Gathering mass; shadow made flesh; breath of my invisible breath.



Welcoming your thoughts.



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