In Poems & Fiction


Every thing is two things, simultaneously.  This is due to the multiplier effect: firefly, lovehate, stopwatch, cowboy, Iceland.  Of course, there are a number of ways to think ‘snow.’  Don’t think Dalmatian, Holstein, Rorschach, ladybug; nor zebra stripe, bumble bee, tiger shark, barber pole. Think Admiral Bird.  Bird claimed he reached both the North and South Poles, where he discovered the Holy Ghost, the vacant page, the lost horizon, the avant garde.  Although these claims have been disputed —most convincingly by indigenous peoples who insist they discovered Admiral Bird—there is no doubt that these milestones were both particles and waves. That said, some things are never quite themselves, no matter how unified they appear.  For example, we must never ask, ‘Is Schrodinger’s cat dead or alive?’  Rather, ‘What is the greatest probability that Kitty merely naps?’  Can diamonds really be a girl’s best friend?  Is it illegal in Oklahoma to hunt whales?   There is no such thing as time, yet the moment perpetually approaches.  In this soulless night, a black jaguar stalks us, its methodical breathing an omen of its immaculate intention.  When it draws close enough for us to hear its low growl, to smell its feral scent, you’ll see its black coat is composed of smoky rosettes.  Think nothing of it.  With a 910 kilogram-force, the jaguar’s jaws clench twice as tightly as those of the snow leopard. God sings a song so beautiful, even He can’t hear it.


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