When you don’t believe in God, where is our beauty?

“We glide along the ecliptic”

We glide along the ecliptic,
realizing and apprehending
thoughts that crawled, bloomed from  birth.

Become conscious. Be consciousness.
Possess conscience bewildered cynic,
from God’s viewpoint in your skull’s chapel.

Imagine, you, Rodin’s Thinker
Sit: chin to fist, elbow to knee –
viewing your own Cartesian theater.

The dual internal habitat
Drive with will, with appetite, care,
push a switch, engage, and turn the wheels of

our carnal inheritance. Ask
to drink lupine and goldenrod,
aster and bee balm. Seduce the bee. 

Pick down on Apollo’s lute, smooth
senses alight, fretboard pressed.
delight, see, is matter energy.

In my Cartesian theater
Realize I’m not even here.
The shadow puppet theater:

Plato’s cave. I watch unreal reel
projection of free will? Blind will
can’t peel back veils ad infinitum.

Deaf will’s aural hallucination.
Siren cry ad perpetuum.
Numb will anesthetized sensation.

Plies phenomena, deceptive
simulacra. Mute will thunders
caterwauls appetite’s veritas.

We glide along the ecliptic,
this theater on a disc from
aphelion to perihelion

Itself a curve hitched to a spoke
this galaxy a sub-billionth
fraction of all space-time’s expanse.

Restricted within the boundless
willing as we will among the
imaginations of our bodies.


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