A poem by Evan Hay
In the beginning, man coined poetry respecting a heavenly father, an artistic God.
Spurred by vanity: His once upon a time, was His autistic happy ever after…
Emerging from countless chrysalides of His own potentiality,
He awakens, immaculately conceived from a motherlode of myth.
Top filled, brimming with youthful vigour; extruding a blinding beauty.
Like a frolicking March calf, fey amongst the buttercups,
eschewing boredom at the solid foundation of His consciousness.
There, awaiting imagination, He pants impatiently, exuding jealous desire,
while deep in His fiery bowels, time chugged, & monadic humours giggled:
primed, as bashful as a quixotic firing squad in love…
His heart, a vast pumping powerplant oozing light, space, & free association,
EXPLODED!
Spinning surreality, flung outward, unto a notionally unbounded infinity.
Behold! A stream of seminal consciousness; the shape of things to come…
In these first moments before true knowledge of Good & Evil, claws or defect,
preceding the un-tabulated fall of original incompetence-
God stands, insanely bright & brainless, as scintillating as a tactless orgasm.
Blood erecting His crumpled form, the translucent membranes,
of His quadrifid ears, stiffening into divine configurations.
Holy lugs flap a whispering atmosphere & in response a terrible wind arises,
billowing thru the humid fundamentals of a prehistoric age typified by inertia.
Beating clouds of mathematics from His trouser cuffs; so aroused is He,
that sunlight, resembling thick-cut marmalade plasma, shines out of His bottom.
God raises His head, His teeth chatter, His toes curl, His magic tail frisks-
thus, attentive to an unravelling knot of whims, & fancies, He speaks!
Clearing His throat of polystyrene, & bubble wrap…
Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmm, He says.
Let there be such a thing as a Heap! And a Drawback!
Let there be Fragrances, Mirabelles & Destinations! Herbs & Hubs!
Inflorescences & Osculations!
Gardens, Fountains, Coronas, Shrews, Indignations, Hippopotami, Magnoliales,
Ginkgoales, & Chlamydomonases!
AND LET THERE BE ME!
Incapable of abnegation, or unselfishness, with a hop, skip, & a jump,
He ascended into a primordial haze of soft purple skies, flying for joy,
around His gibbous moon, He handcrafted from smelly green cheese-
artisanal haughtiness was God’s natural element,
alack, insufferable conceit fostered the inception of His sticky end.
As performative aeronautics created He then: the Barrel Roll, & the G-Turn.
The Scissors, the Split S, & the Immelmann Manoeuvre,
the Jink, the Aileron Roll, & the Victory Loop.
Then God U-turned, downwards, from the superfluity of possibility.
With hysterical passion, He invented the Out-of-Control Nosedive.
He saw the base of His consciousness, beckoning His steep descent.
He adjudged that it was bonkers, but good, & chiefly risk-free.
He witnessed antelopes’ gracile scatter over the spilling pampas,
the misty mountains crumpled satin spines,
the wildly spread canvas of everything; tantalised, He viewed,
the widening darkness of His own sly shadow, materialising to fill-
the horizon’s cup, within which He formulated infidelities, trust issues et seq.,
money lenders, mercenaries, monarchic territory, subjects, compound interest;
environmental catastrophe, pruch & plunder. Doubt rooted in gripping niches,
cheek by jowl with disaster, as toxic propagandas spewed from jagged clefts.
At this point He devised wrath, transference, coercion, & metastasizing violence.
He produced tumbrils freighted with condemned souls bearing second thoughts,
stressors, disillusionments, despairs, fear cum trembling onanism; furthermore,
the horrified imagination of posterity also seemed like a reasonable idea. Irony, aesthetics, metaphysics, & state sponsored religiosities occurred to Him too,
just in time to be deferred, yet in vain, as He hit the final line of His poem.