The Fine Points of Existence
The dead, the resurrected, the unborn. The glitches of memory. Tom Boys on the prowl, timid referees. The game. The night lights come on and go out again. Cheerleaders wave pompoms and then fall into a swoon.
God planned it this way, a prime mover spewing universes. We’re a string of progenitors, scientifically tested.
So much for the maiden-foam bra. The latex prophylactic. The picture album full of Selfies. The cascade of millennia, tumbling past us like beach balls. The affordable funeral plan, the teenage crush. So much for abstractions like happiness and love, like betrayal and bitterness. So much for climbing Mt. Everest. So much for our universe, rolling thru infinity while we ponder the fine points of existence.