Sun Beast

All them elemental gases bunching up together, swirling amongst each other, something sparks, kaboom, what was dense and intractable scatters across infinity, trailing stars, planets, meteors, all manner of metallic fiber and rocks careening through space, screeching like eagles divebombing their prey, comes one bunch of gases bubbling, breaking, boiling and beaming, radiating, locking certain gigantic stones into its orbit, the sun, seven of the round spinning orbs got nothing going on, only their stark beauty, rings, red dust, pastel blue mass impossible to imagine suspended in the blackness, but there it is, like Christmas ornaments hanging in nothing space, come one round rock unlike the others, maybe an extra dried clove dropped into the gaseous soup and something happened to make water and something happened in the water, a cell, a life, life needing life, needing more life, as if the original bank of swirling elements before the explosion of the condensed elemental milk, maybe had will or consciousness or the ungerminated seed of the light spark that precedes conscious mind, now there is life in the oceans moving around, fish, beasts with rows of teeth like the serrated edge of a saw on a family farm hanging in the old barn moonlight, sun glowing, moon streaming, more movement, plates shift and mountains erupt from the sea like how you imagined it would be if you were an actor in a cop movie projecting your fist through a Hollywood paper wall, it is as if you dropped a penny in a shopping mall fountain and the most beautiful and glorious impossible paradise emerged, “a terra” they say in Portuguese, land, earth, Earth, we came from this place that was shot out of the heavens, this place that made the heavens, how can it be, walking, breathing, thinking, loving, shitting, fighting, yelling, singing, running, dancing, it was all too good to be true, but it was true, it is still true, we are still here, still running, still singing, still chanting into the roar of waterfalls that land in granite canyons carved out of wind and rain, an echo-sound you still can’t identify caroming off of the canyon walls, the cry of a night bird, the cry of a sun beast, it might be be, distant...

Dedicated to fellow travelers David Goldstein & Leo Gonçalves