Tell me it's a hologram in eight dimensions,
and that light and gravity share kisses
across vast black seas flecked with fusion-fire.
Tell me it's countable and knowable,
that mysteries are like wide-eyed schoolgirls
just begging to be undressed and penetrated,
that imagination is illusory,
that mind is naught.
Tell me that your cutting and splicing and
crashing and smashing are for humankind's
higher good, that your cutting and splicing
and crashing and smashing will teach
the mysteries who's boss, and that by doing so
we will become free and mighty and, finally, hard.
Tell me. But I won't believe you,
not even for a second.
Blinded by your science,
blinded by your overwhelming arrogance,
your grinding skepticism,
your acidic doubt,
you in fact seek to rule the Cosmos.
There is no lesser goal in mind.
Photography: The Color of Creation by KJH Cardinalis