Destruction’s creation into motion.
The world’s first begins for posterity.
At the distant edges, the thing moves fast—
Faster as it converges. I am the
Center. A universal spiral. All
Matter historian, void. Moving to
Coalesce, spin in a vortex, to gain
Because I recognize even them. It
Spins in reds, oranges, and whites. Once down
My face, there is a tension. My chest. Lost.
I can feel the tears streaming, only this
Tightness of sorrow. I am lying face
On my center. I remember the old
Arthritic knuckles and the wrinkles and
The wrinkled hands. My wrinkled hands. My hands.
Covered. In red all— The friends dead. Write down
The results. Preserve the universe. This
Moment is the event that causes me.
https://therichardbraxton.wordpress.com/2016/06/21/june-poem-21/
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