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Michael McGuire
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If Everything Is All There Is, Pt. 2
The mathematics of the river's emotions,
The ghost of a dozen dead oceans,
I the part where the whole is divided,
Weather the fault of the winds decided.
Somewhere in the depths of atomic works,
The meaning of the macrocosm lurks,
All this matter tangled in the mind-machine,
Only the mind to tell what the matter to mean.
In rhetorical wastelands of formal focus; we casually disconnect,
Burning buildings are the odes to the codes that we reject,
The sky is a graveyard for to bury our test-tube devils and gods,
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And we bet our pagans past and our fortune's future on the odds.
Love found in desire's chronic guess work,
Life defined in temptation's knee-jerk,
Her hair the tangled divinity of grace,
Her kiss the dead stop of time and space.
The pursuit of truth is so demanding,
The best we can do is an enemy's understanding, But if everything is all there is,
Then why do we settle for this?
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