Creation Myth

Getting lost in the spaces

between words.

Not getting lost, but losing one’s self.

writing, rewriting

Every world becomes a new world

every letter a universe

Each pen-stroke, key-stroke

an act of God in the void

of the cosmos.

The Decision-Maker! First Distinction! Star Maker!

Who said that it requires genius?

(and what is that, anyway?)

No! not genius, just a willingness to dematerialize

reappear on the page,

in the space, the pause

from one line

to the next.

Liminal space, hunt it out!

seek it, those glorious nether-regions,

hunt them as the Cherokee once stalked the deer,

with silent determination, eyes wide,

find them in every beautiful creation

and rest there,

breathe in the free air!

Glorious Temporary Autonomous Zone!

No genius here, just silent madness,

patient in-sanity,

for what is insanity if not

the ability to see what lies

between the molecules?

Molecules? Particles or waves?

Ha-ha! No one knows

at this liminal cross-section

the objective becomes the theoretical

and what are theories

if not ideas panting

waiting to be disproved?

A quiet madness, a scribbling,

those words lifted from the spaces no one can hear.

A crack, a beam of light

Shines through

Catch it! Bathe there,

and dance as you are commanded

soon the plates shift

(the nature of tectonics, after all)

a –what is that word?—

and it’s gone.

And what’s left?

But to wait for the next black hole.