beauty, when viewed
all at once
is perturbing
to the eye—and to the brain, it
makes no sense.
In order to survive, we must
believe it's
unessential—
that, really
all along, it's just
the ether versus us.
But of course,
that's wrong; it's
this whole outlandish
phantom of a place—
this concussed and chaotic
fever dream of a vast
expanding universe—
which endures and is truly
monumental,
while the poor
human actor who
fritters and struts
is, at best, unimportant,
and at worst,
gratuitous—born to
gross, uncertain
luck, then disappeared
just as mysterious.
