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darkness, like Jonah 
held in the belly of the whale,
the end of a world;
closed-in time in dark spaces -
gives one, a hell of a time to think 

in the belly of the whale 
grew a whole world, 
longer than 3 days and 3 nights,
the construction took finesse 
and dare one say, a gauche fearlessness

to unravel that ball of light
eject it out of her universe 
like a supernova,
like a titian haired prodigy,
far from easy, ostentum

to accumulate the life of it all
extend the regeneration in kind,
of a generational call -
each time an infant cries, 
the occupant in an infant is re-borne;

they say, it will take
3 days and 3 nights -
to destroy it all - 
the end of an unprepared
naive world -

who keeps tabs on the betting 
of it all, the end of a world?
there’s always 2 sides to a game -
the dimensions, levels all endless,
split and perplex;

in your arms today, gone tomorrow,
the love and the purpose stolen,
the end of a world -
the cycle sometimes broken -
yet the perpetuation of life, 

for all its worth -
continues, 

light and dark
some more light,
some more dark,
some sit on the fence 
in the middle, in-between; 

the end of a world?
they say shooting nuclear rockets 
into the Moon’s shadow 
could be a valid reason 
to collect unknown dark matter -

dark matter resides in us all -
why target the Moon and the Sun,
when we have bountiful supplies
within us all, human, here in this world?
all Jonahs, at some point, we are -

inside the belly of the whale

the internal infernal wars 
of us all, 
perhaps she thinks ...
she should cry like Jonah, 
hmmn, not anymore buster, not anymore

she’s had a life time 
to think on it all,
mull it all over - 
more and more
the rise and the fall,

but, she doesn’t cry anymore

the philosophy 
the mathematics 
of the metaphysical 
revolution takes over -
the futile banality of it all;

ostentum 

the occurrences, 
foreshadowing future events
borne from the belly of a whale 
the ostentum, 
goes about freely, now

watched from afar, 

by the love of another,
uneclipsed, 
in her own world

like a child 
watched by a loving mother




Candide Diderot. ‘24
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