by Chris Moran
Jason, you enact the totality of the sequence. With your intimate awareness of the horror. The horror of pure vacuity. These patterns drive us, Jason. Jason oh Jason. These patterns drive us toward failure. Exploded suns reflect the perfect image of my dark solar currents. Jason you are the one Jason. And I've already disintegrated. When we look at the occult suns blazing in every direction, it is a dream. Entire suns gravitate the wave. The stakes are so much higher than we can possibly imagine. To experience the collapse. The total nature of surrender. Your warty theorems capture the vibe of a blazing star in this invisible inferno. I'm haunted by the golden horizons. An explosion of cosmic dimensions, a star. For the human animal to become a star we leap into the realms. Inorganic realms of pure knowing. Energies fallen from the inorganic realm, the dissolved source folding in on itself. Holographic chamber. The seed that is cracked and awakened to the life of the double. Source of the force.
Chris Moran is an American poet of Irish, Ukrainian and Czechoslovakian ancestry. He is the author of Poison Vapors (Solar Luxuriance, 2011).