Open conspiracies are born in black light
as a big bang passes a tiny toot

Beyond color-prison shackles
freedom glows a fitter hue
as unreal and exact as foreseen

Baby Buddha in smoothed-out wrinkles
redisappears
backwards
into a moment gravity holds dear
pieces of universe stuck in its throat
giggling to negotiate
the terms of its final rebirth:

The magnetic pole to every needle,
in exchange for time to squeeze out of life
the conditions for running counter-clockwise…

Reality is a plot to overthrow itself.