Bright Star Panoptic

Bright star staring, bright star wavering

Bright star panoptic

Into the principle

Of uncertainty.

Diamond light

Passing through a formulating zone

Where time and geometry stretch, fold, and wince

In a virtuoso mime show of subatomic syntax

Particles of speech with no reference, no meaning.

The enfolding and bending of signs
Mute, filled with dumb wonder at

The disappearance of the past and future

The Night of the Gods nigh upon itself

And within the cyclotron the rock can be heard crying,

“There is no hiding place down here”

Yea, if you search for its shade in the desert of space

It will run from you

Kant built a leaky boat

Nietzsche ran off without his coat

Freud his cigar sucked and smoked

And Marx with Hamlet’s ghost dirty joked

My mother asked me,

How many

Fools

Are there?

Tag, you’re it.

Yes, hide and go seek

But with a cosmic twist

You have to search out mirrors and

Wake them up

The tears of Isis, the High Priestess flow through

The desert and the city

Containing every memory and meaning

Of sorrow and mistake we all must live through

As they drown this world in very blue oceans of history

And the boatmen still cries for every sailor to hear

The paen that let him know that the twilight is passing,

The twilight of the Gods

IO, IO, IO…

Surveying the dead body of culture

In which “truth” leans over the gravesite

Like a tombstone. 

Melancholy is the fundamental tonality

Of systems of simulation, programming

And information.

History is over inside the computer