The synthesizer forgetting and remembering itself.
The four slow notes of time; descending breath of God.
It helps that the fish get stranger as you go, and the children
either fall asleep or silent. Young lovers whispering
into each other as they stare into other worlds.
What is the proper way of viewing?
A screen? A portal? What is it from here to there?
Certainly more than distance.
Almost a movie, only much crueler. The added light takes something away.
Even the synth feels cruel; an overstatement of the abyss.
Every fish is well fed and so sits a terrible tension: jaws rearing
but never the urge to lunge. The ray moving through schools of fish,
their silver bodies boundless and clearing;
shimmering and fleeting while instinct holds itself strong.
A few strides and universes over: jellyfish like craters with plumes of smoke
rising from their centers like a meteor colliding with the Earth;
A silent, repeating destruction as it swims,
slowly, like an ornamental flower on a growth of Void
hauled all the way up to Earth;
Heaven to them.
Mason Richards is currently an undergraduate student at the University of Arizona double majoring in English and creative writing. Working as the world and jazz music director for KAMP Student Radio. Songwriter and producer whenever given the free time. Poetically interested in the ultramodern, the absurd, and the intersections that the two have with the Natural.