A poem inspired by the workshop I ran at Tropical Pressure. The workshop focused on finding treasure in the house of a person who hoarded everything and this poem is another riff on the whole hoarding urge.
I like the idea of planet building and to the best of my knowledge the solar system formed around a small wrinkle in gravity.
I am not sure that this is the finished draft but I think it is nearly there.
Here's Chip Taylor.
Until next time.
She
was dozing, half hearing
the
man on the television
explain
solar system formation.
How
eddies in the gravity
started
the slow accumulation,
made
molecules bind
and
in that second she knew
this
was the fate of her house,
all
the unemptied shopping bags,
the
clothes strewn floors,
every
piece of everything that
she
could never part with,
was
due to a wrinkle in space/time
and
not to her own actions.
The
mound of plastic bags
would
become a mountain
then
a planet ripping the earth asunder.
She
woke on her friends sofa,
soap
and replaced science,
she
flicked it over to the shopping channel,
there
was work to be done.
I like the idea of planet building and to the best of my knowledge the solar system formed around a small wrinkle in gravity.
I am not sure that this is the finished draft but I think it is nearly there.
Here's Chip Taylor.
No comments:
Post a Comment