Tag Archives: Albert Einstein

Two Nights Ago I Dreamt the Sun Was Crashing Into Earth

Expert’s assured me that death would be peaceful.
There was a television broadcast that explained
how everyone would pass
out from the heat and die asleep. We would all
nap sweetly and wake up in heaven among those
our bodies had melted against in the last moments.
I was told to ignore the rising
shoreline and the other gravimetric effects of a

mass that large bearing down upon us. The ocean
turned to lava. It got a bit warm. The sky turned
to glass. It was the reddest
dream I’ve ever had. I was still awake. No one cried.
I was told to ignore the rising
tightness of the weight that had arrived before the light.

Be Nice

In the fall out I found I was biodegradable,
quite safely disposed of in any public dump;
her decay was more unstable. If I hadn’t

been so enriched by our fusion, I might not
have reacted so explosively to her ill-concluded
decision to induce fission. Which reminds me,

I initially admired her controlled bursts of
passion, incendiary remarks and body parts
bursting and clashing—at times she was both

ravaging and ravishing—but the fires have
since died down considerably, attributed to
some underlying lack of synergy or chemistry,

a polymer disbonded through lack of basic
attraction. I wish there was a way to make
the slowly eroding memories implode, or

at least expand rapidly enough to explode
all at once, a type of pseudo-synaptical
Dr. Device. Oh, wouldn’t it be nice…