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Before All Ages

The orbiters gesticulated there;
Monorails glided along in silence,
While flashing lights indifferently got glares
From beams and passengers coldly quiet.

Indeed as were his architecture plans
To conjure more flimsy wire and concrete,
Revealed to me by Trojan and Greek hands,
Flanking our Jupiter ninety degrees
On both sides. On hexagonal shaped streets

                                                  Stood I

                                                  On Saturn,

Whose ouroboros rail it wounds round and round;
Janus reports on the unseen and
Knot
,Which, tied at the planet core,
Holds fast us to its revolutions qua time.

Watching the thrall over there
Contribute nothing to the accursed share—
Some dig in their heels up to their knees and are quietly pushed along regardless,
While others fight and fight to get halves of inches ahead,
Throwing life away like Malian gold at naive efforts to become unharnessed,
Which, of course, they will only be when they are dead.

Seeing all this outside First Father’s
Grasp
Did I for my space telephone
And requested to meet with Kronos’s keeper.

They took me down through the cloud cover and metal hydrogen
Into a forest of grass; attended by small men
Was the leader with whom I wanted to speak:

A being hairy legg-ed,
With sets of eight legs and eyes-
‘Twas me he reprimanded;
Purring, he told me no lies.

The undulations of his throat me assured:
                                                  That anything
                                                  That is not
                                                  Everything
          Must be contained,

          That it was a kind contract,
          And all to whom
          It bound

          Would be released
                                                  In the end.

                                                  For that matter,
                                                  It was all illusory,
                                                  And that it
                                                  Would be best
                                                  If all should
                                                  Need to toil
                                                  Under the sun
                                                  For their prophet.

Thus, I was kindly but firmly escorted
          To Rhea,
          Who hid me away
So that my complaints I may not suffer,

But I could still see
Jupiter’s one eye,
Whose convections bore their way into my mind
And left me with a centrifuge of mush.

As knows Uranus,
Who, though existing as the outer bounds of space which we weren’t permitted the speed to crack, decided to rest his soul

                       At the center of it.