Lines

Space is the communication

Of atoms with other atoms;

Time is the communication

Of an atom with itself.

All other phenomenon

Are a sort of magic

But I do not mean magic

In the restrictive sense;

The worldly fireworks that braze

The dragon’s snouty maw.

By magic I mean to say

That it is the medium

Of the communication:

The infinitely twisted cork-coloured

Blend of language and air,

An inseparable hardness

Between the psychological and physical:

This is magnetism (1) gravity (2),

The heart crumbling corrosives and toxins

That pull our fingers from off our hands,

Blotting the bones in a virus of sandpapers

And sharpening them to shivs

Before spitting them back in our heads

To pull us apart (3) and

Forgetfulness that glues

Us together like toys (4).

A free, healthy and secure relationship,

Time and space both flowing

Free as water,

Is what we call death

And the whole system is an old dentist

With a hundred sets of teeth,

And not enough skull

To accommodate all that brow.