Vulgar Theories

There's a ghost in the womb
There's a womb in the brain
A brain in the soil
Dissolving in the rain
Rain upon the ocean face
A face on the palm of a human hand
A hand that swallows empty space
To nourish the time that we withstand
There's time enough to save and keep
To save the signs that rise in steep
To mimic the pigs and mimic the sheep
To marvel at the high and steep
There's a distance to the end
There's an end to distance's reach
Reach to push to come to know
How to sow and what to reap
There are fruits that we have borne
Gone rotting and unrecognized
Recollect a memory
Of sentient orbs in a sentient sky
There's a sky the faithful find
Space that speaks to listening time
Join and sunder - sever and bind
The junction of two parallel lines
There is a trace that is sought to seek
10, 000 years pass in a week
Lately it has become clear -
The weak are strong and the strong are weak
Not to say that all is reversed
And not to say that all is cursed
Not to disfigure and not to pervert:
Praise
Praise
Praise