God was very lonely. He grew big and beat himself.
Colours were not colours. No chaos. No atomies.
No thought for another not himself
and no other not himself.
Space awesome, unrelieved, of infinite extent
was he / with no space, no organ –
of heart, no organ external,
none internal in his ripe eternity;
till he withdrew, from a hole
and leaving that hole inside of him,
he put in his pipe & wanting,
grew big before he beat himself.
God, lonely, no friend, no money.
Colour of mercury & splashing
on a black hole inside of him;
thought of another for himself:
the best part of him in-jected
intensely withdrawn, AND she
in a little room, he kept her in a
little room, a hole, a well of loneliness;
UNTIL she grew a son and beat himself.
Also lonely, no friend, no money
and no fun. & the son
got on God with a WIFE.
IN THE Ark WAS A bomb and the
flood comes bursting in the planks:
God said, I make a habit of
boarding sinking ships, how many
holes there were before I got here
I don’t know; I caulked the dripping
with my arm; no time to smoke. & the bomb goes off
continuously with the light of a million
SUNS, a universe of Absurd proportion
and if one participant got off the floating brothel
of heaven, the whOle creation would un-balance & the sons
and daughters & the wife & mothers copulating without stop.
and this was then god & he was amongst them;
I was among them, one of us:
if one participant, if one among them,
should stop from this ceaseless copulation,
should get off of THE FLOATING BROTHEL OF HEAVEN,
then the whOle creation would un-balance.
NO RELIEF … whales, porpoises with bodies
& organs of absUrd proportion swimming
slide with the friction & waves of lust & foam & surf …
that God was before this very lonely,
and, after, there was no relief but the pink /
black / red / yellow / blue relief & skins
without surcease AND no SATISFACTION, BUT