The Future Part 1

One of the best things about the apocalypse is that no one died and people even kept being born afterwards:

I am bored. So bored I check the weather to see what will happen. I don't see if I will be bored later, I don't know how to find that out.

People are different now. These days, people have sex with robots and live off their cum. This is better than the exchange of sex for money in some ways but not in others.

There is a lot to consider.

What little things come from big things?

There is the sea and then there are ceilings.
The larger reflects the sky, the littler ones are the sky reflected
thrown back up in little waves: smooth, solid light made white planes.

There are grapes and there is grappling.
Stone fruit crumble off the rapine's crag:  arm-to-arm, neck-in-neck, face-to-face,
a struggle to mouth grape, mount the guardrail, and surmount
the archaic rubble, the garbled reward:
death grip in the garbage garden.

There is kind and there is kindling.
Kind is a kind of kind already and kindling is a sub-kind of kind.
This is one of those infinite relationships, numbers and in-between numbers, on the one hand--
--on the other hand, all things in time can truly be said to exist simultaneously:
If, by the time we could count all the animals old ones don’t die out and new ones are born (thus making the living an infinite number in time),
perhaps kind and kindling aren’t related at all.

There are ears and there are earrings.
A selfish reproduction, aimed at enhancing
the hear-and-remain-unseen (but vain) ear’s appearance.
Without their offspring, ears are forgettable. Many earrings
die before they mature into ears, as they are born vain--and prescient.

There is kind and there is kindling.
Kind breeds the kindling of friendship and love.

There are stars and there are starlings for reasons that will become completely obvious, so obvious that this relationship forms the proof of why obvious is always the same size, either hermaphroditic or thought to emerge spontaneously (enigmatically).

There are years and there are yearlings.
Years come in horses and yearlings are year-old horses.
One is one smaller.
Picture two ones: the smaller one is still one.

There are motes and there are motions,
each hung in the mane "elemental," a halo.
Motes sparkle on the mantle, never monotonous,
but intoning the micro-maneuvers of momentary inter-light lapses,
slopping up stillness the slob, elemental.

There are toys and there are toilets.
Stella, étoile is the French word for star and toilette
is the French word for what she wears on her play date.

Dressed to the nines (the Plutos, indeed),
she flushes away her childhood, flashing in orbit
a playful display of her décolleté—

--there are cocks and there are coquettes.
While one begets the other, they are always the same
size in relation to one another because before dawn,
it is too dark to see a coquette.
And before the crow, they are no cocks.
In the light of the rising sun, cocks and coquettes
come to know one another. Crepuscular confusion
leads them to ask these questions of which one came first,
although of course.

There are marks and there are marches.
One passes through the next and the last, through the other, like names twirling on a marquee, with a certain click, at a certain
clip, sliced one flat and the next perpindic--
the shape of planes intersecting in space
like a sky if there were no Earth or sky--

There are couples and there are couplets. Picture two twos: the smaller ones are still twos.