Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Inpatient Mushroom

The world is dying, so says the prophet. Internal.
The rush of change flows through the veins of the universe.
Change is, God is, we are, all else is irrelevant.
The hourglass studders as the last grains of sand make up their mind.
Change their mind?
The universe is completely unfolded, manifold consumed by stretched flatness.
Two dimensional; Platonic nothingness.
Rips at its seems, rejects its own rules.
Meaning, exile, receives asylum from the hereafter.
Follow her.

3 comments:

ChemE said...

Is that In-Patient or impatient?
Have you ever met a fungi doctor?
Why are you asking if sand thinks? (It doesn't have a central nerveous system)
Why does your poetry leave me with so many questions?

Jordan (w.m.s.n.b.s.) said...

Its impatient; Eye kant spehl.
I'm sure their are doctors that smell like fungi.
Sand doesn't think, but that doesn't make it thoughtless. Questions are better than answers, because they make you think for yourself.

Joshua said...

Jordan. You are so cerebral my friend. I love the poetry. Have you read any Lee Yung Li? His stuff kind of has the same feel. Just wanted to drop a line and tell you I was picking up what you were laying down on the chick episode of ping. I definitely agree that there is a line within all of us who follow Jesus and are simultaneously honest. As hippie dippie as it sounds its love that matters most. Firm sometimes which covers the getting pissed at other judgemental or legalistic Christians but love nonetheless. Just my two cents. That's American cents by the by so really worth even less in that case.