Decentralization
Decentralization
Accounting for rounding,
Amongst such data as
The star’s circumference
And its distance from our Earth,
And the exact speed of light:
Eight minutes and seventeen
Seconds, maybe twenty.
If God should pluck the Sun
From the smack center of
Our system—no longer
“Solar”—we would not know it
Until such time had elapsed:
Blissfully prevailing,
Eyes blind to doom’s approach.
Working on flawless abs,
A minute per each pack;
Creating two perfect
Soft-boiled eggs in succession,
With yolks ideal for sloshing
Fingers of hoppy, whole-grained
Wheat toast into, just twice.
Eight minutes, seventeen:
A densely-packed short film;
Reading Whitman’s, “Song of
The Exposition,” aloud;
Indulging in Beethoven’s
Fifth Symphony, Movement one,
Andante non troppo.
Sex, nap, stroll,
Chat, Scowl, love
Smile, grow, fill,
Stir, spoil, live,
Tick, tock, tick.
Past the rising action,
Beyond its climaxed crest,
In fifteen’s second half,
Approaching fame’s denouement,
In early-ending spotlight,
Yet unfinished cosmic script,
Lectus interruptus.
Seventeen or twenty
Short seconds after eight
Minutes, some, now matter.
Only then, now, day darkness—
Forever night—consumes us
(a last three second gasp)
Sending Earth from orbit’s flight.
Uncentered, God-whimsied
ended light.
Amongst such data as
The star’s circumference
And its distance from our Earth,
And the exact speed of light:
Eight minutes and seventeen
Seconds, maybe twenty.
If God should pluck the Sun
From the smack center of
Our system—no longer
“Solar”—we would not know it
Until such time had elapsed:
Blissfully prevailing,
Eyes blind to doom’s approach.
Working on flawless abs,
A minute per each pack;
Creating two perfect
Soft-boiled eggs in succession,
With yolks ideal for sloshing
Fingers of hoppy, whole-grained
Wheat toast into, just twice.
Eight minutes, seventeen:
A densely-packed short film;
Reading Whitman’s, “Song of
The Exposition,” aloud;
Indulging in Beethoven’s
Fifth Symphony, Movement one,
Andante non troppo.
Sex, nap, stroll,
Chat, Scowl, love
Smile, grow, fill,
Stir, spoil, live,
Tick, tock, tick.
Past the rising action,
Beyond its climaxed crest,
In fifteen’s second half,
Approaching fame’s denouement,
In early-ending spotlight,
Yet unfinished cosmic script,
Lectus interruptus.
Seventeen or twenty
Short seconds after eight
Minutes, some, now matter.
Only then, now, day darkness—
Forever night—consumes us
(a last three second gasp)
Sending Earth from orbit’s flight.
Uncentered, God-whimsied
ended light.
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