A short poem staging the end of the world as a sequence of last things: the final sunset, the last hungry kiss, gravity dissipating and DNA unzipping while the angels blow their trumpets and God plays a violin sonata. It closes on a white hole in the uncreated void, called the paradoxical fulfillment of nobody’s desire.
A prose poem in the first person plural, imagining humanity becoming God and God falling into matter across innumerable incarnations and universes. Eternity appears as astral light, endless lovemaking and limitless patience, before the piece narrows to a single appointment on Mulberry Street with a woman in a blue coat, an appointment that required inventing hydrogen, carbon and gravity to keep.
Dated July 19, 2015, this poem treats the Void as the unconditional ground from which everything, including God, emerges and into which it sinks back. It states that terror is a meaningless response and that surrender is already the case, with love the last tone one recognizes and madness only a stage passed through on the way to equanimity.
An incantatory poem built almost entirely from stacked prepositional phrases: in the desecrated places, in this rusted nail time, in the city after the end of it. It describes a survivor’s remembering in which no sin is found anywhere and no forgiveness either, only repetition of gesture and tone. Dated July 8, 2015.
Short fiction in which a rebel tears the hands off his watch and frees them in a garden, restarting revolutions. Masses march while tyrants work killer drones from underground bunkers, the rebel alliance captures the Higgs boson, and nanotechnology converts the material universe to grey goo; the two lovers meet again as mini black holes unraveling toy universes.
Two lovers are figured as facing mirrors, reflecting each other into crystalline light and labyrinths until neither knows where one ends and the other begins. Cats, a fountain from which both joy and sorrow flow, and a party recur as images, and the prose poem ends with the mirrors multiplying and snagging on little hooks of identity.
A long prose poem spoken by a cosmic collective that invents matter, suffering, saints and concentration camps in order to experience creation from the inside. References accumulate from satchitananda and HP Lovecraft to Gog and Magog, the Whore of Babylon and Bitcoin, closing with 100 billion tons of methane erupting from the Siberian permafrost while experts treat the crisis as an academic exercise.