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BIG
BANG
When
the absolute night imploded
from
a sheer excess of boredom and sameness,
when
the highest pitch could grow no higher
the
fattest cow no fatter
the
meanest dog no meaner
the
saddest song no sadder
and
the drunkest lord of all no drunker,
when
the dervish projects were finally completed
and
the laundry carefully folded for the last time
and
the few remaining invisible haloes
winked
out in a darkness thicker than coal
it
was a moment for the mystery of lines
of
caves and sunlight
wombs
and the sentimental bebop rooms
of
mothers who might have been angels
faster
than the speed of light
who
might have invented the first music
who
might have seen the original color
who
might have shed the tear
that
became an ocean,
who
might have uttered the first word
and
laughed the laugh
that
caused the apoplectic happenstances of birth
to
become a torrent touches and dreams,
and
the pitiful desperation of logic
to
shatter itself with its own echoes and conundra
upon
the skulls of the unborn actors
waiting
for the unborn audience to appear
somewhere
there in the hypnagogic wilderness
where
it all supposedly started.
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