My last name
is likely derived
from the color of a swept wooden floor
or the dirt swept from it
into a pan
into the trash
from the color of shit
or the body of a dead blossom
from the color of waterlogged pilings
under a fog soaked dock
from the color of
things walked on
things discarded
things never seen
unless you’re drowning
I do not trust
what is called “joy”
longer
than a second or two
beyond its initial arrival
or the feeling called
“despair”
for any longer than that
either
preferring instead
to poke at each in turn
until they morph into something
called
“closely watched anxiety”
which lasts and is
genuine
because I call it so
and can understand it with my head
while joy and despair
(not unfamiliar to me
but never completely welcome)
being more emotions of the marrow
are too bone deep
and beyond thought
to be trusted
to endure
the joy may leak free and leave me in despair
the despair may freeze in there
and still me
thus leaving me either way
in despair
too deep to break apart
1.
always
in the beginning
a presupposed entity
sees
unity
that must be
broken:
light/dark, water/mud
then after comes
life-spark: sometimes
all at once, plant/animal/human;
sometimes an ordinal hierarchy
develops
there must be a rebellion then
there must be some trickster
to lead rebellion
at some point
there must thus be a war
between the beings of the myth
and those who are not of the myth
and some great secret forbidden
or treasure withheld
and thus there must be
a journey to seek it
thus a hero also
who must lose in victory
there must be some conquest whole or partial
of death itself
this becomes central to the subsequent story
and eventual foretelling
of an end time
and rebirth
for the chosen
and not the others
2.
by sorting among the various
repetitions and themes
a clear eyed bigot
can justify any belief
secure in the knowledge
that it will resonate for at least
one other
thus recreating their simple world
under the shade of mythology
Dark Matter 