Reconsidering Cosmology / The Universe is a Big Fat Egoist
Kaylor Jones
there are stories out there / reluctant
echoes of a people fastened to a
tangential satellite / in a solar system
where likeness is prophetically mirrored /
they comb outward into the chaos but
it all looks like more me me me / yet
again it is supernova sunday / and the
phoenix isn’t just a metaphor they live
inside of one / a ribcage that breeds
lava and spits it into space / like the
suggestion of pollen on a threadbare
heel / once everything has dissolved you
really can start over / the infinitesimal
yearns to mature into a conduit to
a disparate universe / one that gladly
houses less than a scant inkling of
everything is temporary / except
this one thing that’s tinted aching
twilight blue by the notion that
there’s anything other than a
selfish reflection to be found in
the unknown / if life was temporary
it would have the good sense to
make something nice and just stop
there / the people are atomic like
pollen and could never be spit out
into space / like the phoenix
the sky reburns pink and sometimes
orange / solar system sentinels
pose then faint in the bedlam
that gravity relinquished / a
speck of gilded pollen actualizes
in the overlapping fringes of a
tossing turning universe / from
what they can grasp on the banks
of the earth / something cruelly new
will take root in the wizened husk
of the undying.
