A Jerky Reverie

A Jerky Reverie Where is the moon just now? The light shining from the sun appears, to have blotted it out. The stark darkness of a motionless void, where atomic debris not seen, passes through it, violating solid state. Harmonious discontent, disconcertedly in serial fashion proceeds atonally in a jerky reverie; weeping tearfully musical notes arise in hesitance, seemingly from nowhere, like faint smoke arises from a fire, brooding, over irrelevance. Why is the light so dim? A serene moment, born alive, outwardly gesticulating, silently swaddling a mindful yet unarticulated and self-willed thought, a thought which plummets over itself, as over a precipice, steely, shortsighted, perhaps longingly, into a discordant pool of afterbirth, languishing momentarily, recognizing its purpose, to enrapt, to give notice! Who blotted out the sun? As hairy beasts of long, long ago tramped bipedal out into grizzly landscapes where voluptuous volcanic teats alined in all their glory disgorged hot lavic, retch, painting again a textured grit, a layer of time, stratified, new, brilliant, flawed, awaiting encounters. The bony beasts, brains now enlarged, experienced, tooled up, science in mind, recursive by design, calculating, manipulative, mindful meditations on control, edgy love slap, forthwith as a dangerous impulse, unto itself and it.