I
Did you hear the one about the orange
Under the electron microscope, and how
The grand canyon of it all they found
In the black and white they took would give
The lie to think the gods of nature wrought
Cartesian topologies for men, our palms
To sooth, our minds to smooth, and tincture truth
With text of juicy parchment? Moist yet dry
It slices deep horizons into wedges.
II
(I digress.)
It’s mighty odd
To be bruised and bothered by blisters;
Though I have lately found
July’s clouds – July’s birds
And July’s raving wind. They sing July’s graves, wild with dew.
Though I called, though I called,
Though I most seriously called
They were the facts I lost, ever-divergent,
Told in angles and slants;
Yet, bruised and bothered by blisters,
They say to me no true word that’s not.
III
They say that atoms are God’s rosary beads –
They spin off through fingered voids like blebs of fire,
Each revolution increasing by one
The total sum that sloughs from stars and sand,
What Abraham was pained to count. And yet
His foot would make its mark and guide his eyes
To smart additions of eternity,
The promised land extracted ex nihilo.
Unpeel that mystery, you’ll find it rhymes with prayer.
Like it, esp. III, esp. atoms as rosary beads and promised land extracted ex nihilo. Much to ponder over.
I love the word “blebs.”
‘Blebs’ is my favorite nickname for ‘Belinda’.
Beautiful.=) What do you call that formation of poetry?