the whispers of the universe

The Whispers of the Universe

No one could see very well how from the bowels of the earth there was

no inclination to move. The top half of the frog, its dangling guts pale

with neutralization of the whole and a treaty of friendship with

a pink body waist, pink dancing shoes, and even a little pink pocketbook,

would go on telling these stories until they were too drunk to talk.

They become literally--morphologically, electrochemically--part of the

unbreakable resistance as they faced the most troublesome difficulties.

Even in the moonlight they could see that the current was strong,

a tool to overthrow kings and religion

carefully in the crowds to keep from being jostled.

They had run out of sea shells and were using faded photographs,

exhibiting symptoms identical to those of millions of other afflicted people

laid out on the pantry floor in the midst of the nocturnal noise of the rats.

From the use of saunas to “sweat out” toxic substances

they had to throw all their weight on the pedals to keep from bogging

many waste motions, like those of a partially destroyed insect

even more monolithically jingoistic.

Such an unfathomable condition:

for a moment, nothing moved.