Drinking from the Sun

Destiny and free will are not mutually exclusive;

the egghead set will blather otherwise.

Let’s let ’em think that.

Everything happens for a reason,

because your personal story commands it.

You don’t hafta strain for reasons;

they’re right in your face.

If you dare stay on-map of this prescribed destiny,

your course will be dull and lifeless,

monochromatic and bland,

yet mathematically consistent and true.

[[Witness poet sticking finger down his throat, rocket-vomiting breakfast.]]

Your grand opus of destiny is written in

the laws of celestiophysics, creation and the universe,

all of which sparked and fired your DNA at conception,

a full nine months before you exited mommy’s vag.

Way more cool is the renegade alternative:

by willful intent or by underhanded crook, stray off-map and

your path will be dark and slippery,

and your learning curve steep and treacherous.

Rockets of adrenaline and rivers of terror

will be your trusted companions.

[[Poet: “Yeee-fucken-hawww!”]]

Every quantoretto within each atom and molecule,

tissue and being, rock and mountain,

moon and planet, star and sun

will impart its sui generis nature.

[[Poet bounces off the walls, a crazed electron. “Cowabunga, ma’fuckas!"]]

It will write a festive, Turing-code of

tangled appendages and fuzzy logic,

paint a richly colored and textured

background and atmosphere.

[[Poet erupts in giant flames, fireworks shooting to the blue heavens.]]

Ahhh, but the choice is yours, M’Love!

Knowing that reasons and causes are predestined.

And actively searching for answers and reasons

is a coin toss:

swimming in lightning and

drinking from the sun. . . .