Some hours after the heart-stopping thump
of a bird against my bedroom window,
I began to consider how the profound geometry of everything
can be summed up in six simple words:
Stuff elegantly slamming into other stuff.
In the beginning,
When time’s pistol spat the checkered flag that ripped the light from blackness,
the fabric of “why?” slammed love into the womb of wild “because…”,
The Big Bang, we called it, because damn… it was good.
when Earth chirped her first
slick wet cries in the after-birth of stars,
nursing in orions arm at the milkyway,
At some point
her nickle sunk into her molton
guts and came slamming into iron,
giving her a this dizzy magnet for ,a heart,
Which gives her this magnetic skin that spins seven miles above us
fending off whatever tides wash in from a sky as
infinite and expanding as the neurons of a toddler asking
“why this? why that? why anything?”.
And Goddamn it was good. And then,
for tens of millions of years the ocean of earth’s surface smashed her waves into the rocks until she shook creatures from her
sundress, who grew legs of their own, to not scuff up soft bellies and some grew wings of their own because why the fuck not. AND THEN…For millions of years,
birds smashed their genes into the genes of other birds,
eggshells shattering like shrapnel,
babies shifting shape as they go
singing and stumble dancing through the violent swelling circus of survival,
until one day
those baby birdies came smashing into glass….
of skyscrapers, turbines, bedroom windows.
We have treated ourselves to this vast history
extracted from dirt beneath our toes and light above our heads,
and we have treated that history at most like a bird
treated to the pain of glass.
Some hours after I buried that bird in my backyard I thought to myself:
The hour is getting late, and we are running out of time.
Which is why I am here standing
which is why I am here slamming
this why into your ear drums,
Because from the beginning of language
Noun slam verb slam grammar slam poets
we have always held our own downfall on our lips
and our salvation on our tongues
Words. These Words. Our Words,
Words first birthed the empires
that run between us and the earth.
And words can shatter them,
but words cannot fix the wings of things already crushed by what they could not see coming
So slam wisely my friends, and slam together
Because together we can break glass of this deathmarch with our lungs
and things can be good again, but goddamn…
But there’s not much tim