Shackled to the very depths,
precariously situated
on the very precipice
of the end

where I can lasso the edges
and bring them back together
whipping the world back
some disseminatory yo-yo
excreting silky rut
rocks that bumble up
from hell and turn to lush
green,
belts of world for sand and dust
to which we have been gleaned.

I could hear them calling deep inside
that colossal of Rhodinia
an ancient land that will never be heard
except for the left
over play dough
left in the sand
Hidden under ice
I will dig until my fingers burn

The animals all taste like chicken
we hide beneath the rocks
fallen angels
left to run for our lives
constantly
constantly
constantly
constantly
constantly

and­ then
Flash
We are together again
the chickens cluck
and I fetch them a water pail
to wash away the fire in their gut
time to eat
time to grow
time to move
time to know

And the Himilayas dance into the sky
and florida's mosquita nets are dry
and the ice
and the creatures
given to the earth
move ever onward
and then
us.


But what does it mean?
I am but dust
and elemental stuff
and atomic configurations
on a tectonic bluff
unknown to the geometry
except for what I see
opaque eyeball
in its cage rolling
Searching for something in the static of dreams
in between the here and then
the now and when
the constant end
that drags the rocks
like slaves
towards constant
never
end.