Everything about Everything

Imagine a cotton yarn sun
—all before the six days—
as it sat in absolution
like an apple in a still life painting

until the yarn spelled out
all the threads that became different
and people like words
had to be economized.
In this uttered fission,
the woman without language
always remembered the first fruit
which she would only bear
but in more and more difference.

In the webs of the yarn
happened a day,
today
when the wires tangled so,
started moving backward into a fusion.

In this, the people who walked like words
fussed with a lack of voice,
and with their right hands,
they burnt all the new dictionaries
that had said
everything is everything.

***

W a i t i n g

My hands
knocking
in open air,
and I am disposed off
time
Largely, a can of vacuum,
self-referentiality,
disunity,
and breaking down to the point
that when you’re knocking at a certain door,
begging for alms,
you’re not even standing there–
for you’ve committed a crime against yourself
and you cannot exist because
a. you exist when what you want is yours & it is not now
b. you exist when you no longer have the want & it is not now. And so I am always in a limbo
staring into a space
of waiting.