Long ago,
A pair of cosmic hands clapped
and the lights flickered on. All across the sky,
ever so slowly. But the sky too,
was born, and all the world with it,
for what could be before the light;
it was shone upon the untouched emptiness,
and existence was made absolute.
Still, I think,
it was there before, as a tree
in a deep forest
as it heaves its last
and the hush of its breath is broken
by the tearing of roots.

I was reminded,
in the hush of existence
Of fire, and blood,
and the terrible screams.
And I? Responsible.
But in my moment of complete failure,
I resolved to something strong,
and died.
Now, in another life,
or mine still, I suppose,
I think to myself
"It's such a beautiful day."
and decide, in silence, within and without, to go for a walk.

And so now, I know.
When the blood boils,
when the village burns...
It shall resolve itself to the empty.
The taste of crystal still sits,
Kingly, between teeth,
A god's throne.
Part of me would weep,
But I smile still, now knowing
that there is only us.
There is only all of it,
all the world in its shifting
hullabaloo.
And what has been,
will be.

Dr. Seuss used to live in my city,
Where the trees are triumphant truphaloos.
Acid rain falls to make you more witty,
and the world shakes with the weight of your dues.
"Still, laugh along with everyone," you'll say,
And the ground will tremble beneath thy hooves
So with that turn to see the palm trees sway,
and chuckle when the sky above you moves.
Yes, Seuss' friends don't wander in the streets
they're far too busy strolling in the woods.
The smells of all Balboa take their seats,
So now, make the exchange, and drop the goods.
I see the world now through a dead man's eyes,
so now upon the world a new sun dies.

The whiskey bottle is empty,
But I find the cap on the floor,
and give it away.
Somewhere, my closest family
sleeps, and I live
for the first time all week.
Ask whoever you want,
they'll tell you the truth;
the hymns of ancient people's
resonate in your ears,
and dead ancestors will look on
horrified.
Still, I am the medicine man in these parts.
But that was another life,
one of silent contemplation of the infinite.

Darling, we're doomed
to a life of
extraordinary regularity.
Still, smile,
for the world's birthday is today,
and it will die as the moon rises.
The Force bends, lifts us up
from the tedium of madness
into an order of monks
who let their mole hairs grow long,
in order to purify the soul.
I breathe, slowly.
The world hums beneath me,
around me,
and within me,
and I look to you. You tell me,
"Hold me closer,"
and I listen, afraid of what you might do.
Still, I think to myself,
"This is nice," as you agree.
The angels fall over themselves with laughter,
raucous, cruel.

I remember walking home,
and to myself, at night,
saying:
"Glory glory, hallelujah."
It's new, these fits of religious excitement.
These nights...
one day, they will be the death of me, but
I can't be bothered to worry.
Because today,
I'm young, alive and invincible.
Perhaps I'll pay for this,
but I'm banking on dying first.