::SINGULARITY::

Good Weather for Airstrikes

(For Ciro, because we're acquainted with condensation.)


I am a particle physicist, learning at last to slow light down.

Its momentum, stolen.
Did the wave calm,
or did the particle
slide to rest?
Its Brownian vigor
not pooled, not condensed,
but diffused like fine perfume
in a blurry uncertain sphere.


I am a computer with an overclocked graphics card.

Anything beyond our immediate world wasn't worth calculating.
Time and space unfolded before us.
Our future, fading in, twenty meters long.


I am an architect, building skyscrapers with tempered light.

Red beams
radiated
like steel girders
from a stoplight.

A silver ceiling
and marble walls
fuller than Fuller's
from a streetlight.

Mouths agape
no words, but tears
on a proscenium built
from a headlight.


I am the Stardust space mission.

We were trapped like particles from a comet's mane
in Aerogel of nature's making,
peering from within frozen smoke,
our path through it
a dazzling self-same trail.
that least dense solid
and this densest air
identical.


I am Neptune.

A blue planet
and a blue lord,
his aqueous ache
drifting like diamond
through atmospherical strata.