Gravity is the weakest force in the universe.
No empowered crack of the electric
arcing back and forth,
no aurora painted by the solar wind,
no polarity of the magnetic
to push apart
or pull-in-close-together.
No elemental binding
in all the flavors of matter.
No quarks or gluons or plasmas,
no
e x p l o s i v e
r e l e a s e
of the nuclear.
No | wave | particle | duality | particle | wave | No
quantum collapse to knock flat
your tiny human mind.
Gravity is the weakest force in the universe.
This is why you do not fall through the floor.
It permeates all that is.
It does not manifest.
Not like the others.
Even something as old
and as true
as love
unveils itself.
But you say “gravity”
you say the very word:
G
R
A
V
I
T
Y
and
I’m reminded
it’s only weakness
if you keep staring at the surface.
I see the moon locked in tidal orbit
with our pale blue dot;
I see the sun and the Earth at perihelion,
closer than they’ll be all year;
I see the white tail of a comet
flying through the abyss;
I see the long sunset horizon
of a black hole;
I see the colors of stellar birth
in the cradle of a nebula.
And beyond…
a binary system.
A neutron star,
a pulsar,
each sharing the other’s orbit,
ferociously magnetized,
broadcasting into the black,
emanating light you can hear,
radiating
the circling of their dance
as far as they can
out into the deep
and the long dark
of the ever-glinting void,
until gravity wins,
warping space,
bending time,
and they fuse together
in their ultraviolet,
in their sunrise,
in their infrared,
in their lightburst collapse of all that is.
This is called a kilo-nova.
This is how gold is made.
decay
extinction burst
the fish swims backwards into d̵̨͔͕̎̇̄̚ẹ̶̅̑͌͋̒̐͜͝c̷̢̞̳͈̠͖̽͗̍̾̊̀̉a̵͕͍̩̝͕̹̼͐̄̈́̓y̵̦̬̓
through the last of the stars
into the deep night
so
into the deep night we run,
over the fire we feast and we sing
and we speak and we form, yet
the night is long, the night is long
the night is long, the night is
long,
dark—
the night is
d̶̢̛̛̯̱̬̤̦̼͛̎̄̓̊̿̈́͊͘͝è̵̛̛̺̥̺͈̤͉̠̬̺̹̲̣͈͆̀̅̌̎͛̾̈̃͠͝e̴̢̞̗̥̫͔͔̘̰̣̲͐͆́̊͋̅͊̓͗̿̂͋͒͠p̶͕̯̫̬͍͚̫̓͊́͐̽͜
now eat
the fire
now eat
the eye
now eat
the grass
now eat
death and
build me an idol of trees and skins
and one of rock and stone
and one of bronze and silver
and one of gold and gold
and one of silicon and lightning;
to learn to
fear
—
to fear to
learn
OH PAINTER USE BLOOD
for the canvas is dry
and pale as the sand
use blood, more b̶̡̰̼̟̰̀̅l̸̨̪͎͓̰̉̏o̴̤̤̦̳̖͊͘͝ơ̴̩̺͓̦̂̕͜d̵̡̲͇̮͐
more blood
more,
for a crisp and lonely standard
that will snap high in the wind
tied to the stern of the ship
that sails the fathomless seas
and seeks the entropics;
for when we arrive
we shall drink down the neon
and noble gases
will be needled into our ş̷̖̱͕͐̈́̓̀k̶̨̗̤̈́͒͐̄͠ͅi̴͇̞͚̓͛n̴̘̟̝̦̓̒
as the choir sings free, free to
̶̷̴̷̤͉͖͎̙̙̣̹̭̖̀̿͗̀̍̀̀̀͊̀̕̚͜͠_̶̲̔͋̎ *
They are here. Run.
* ̶̷̶̸̡̢̛̺̺̙̫̞͇̦̮̟̬̲̦̻͍͇͉̘̖͇͉̪̠͇͕͚̪̦͚͍̙͑̓͗̽̒͋̃̓̃̅̄̾͐̃̈́͗͘̕͝
caldera, volcano, ocean, storm
smoked and smoked again the air so thick
to stop and think
let us study at the salt water,
all of it
and the highest tides that fill our flesh…
but how fortunate, this thread
how eyes, wide open to look upwards
into the deep of the deep of
the deep n̴̮̯̉͐̏i̷̩̿̒g̵̜͕͖͗̿͝h̷̞̀ṫ̸̞̅,
there—scintillation
as the fish turns, travails
over and across the rot
into liminal light
as the painter slowly packs to move
and pass this way
with a wink and a nod
are you watching?
one by one by one by one
the very last of the roaring
ș̵̡̺͉̟̲̹̜̤̘̤͙̻̬̪̙͙̃͐͆̋̋͒͂̎̈́͑͜͝t̶̡̛͍͍͎̠̰͍̖͉̝͕̗̜͍̱͖͚̖̱̻͈̟͙͈͔̑̽̓̊̽̈́̏̔̐̈́̐̾̔͘ͅẳ̴̢̢̧̨̛͚̬̠͖͓̝͈̳̫̖̘͈̞̞̻͔̗̙̻̜͙̓̔̃̐̌͛̆̍̈́̓̊̀̏̉̏́̑͑̚͘̚͜ͅŗ̴͍̙̫̺̥̮̹͖̘͙̾͐͂͋̽͋̈̋̈́͘͘͜͜ś̴̡͖̻̣̳̺͔̬̣̞̆̆̎͛̇̐͐̉̑̆̉͊̆̈́̆̽̍̅̿̽̕̕
click
off
,
Litany_of_the_Lost 