The Universe is a jell-o mold—
set, yet possible to pierce through
in novel ways, once you understand
the script- once every possible
change in every possible atomized
bit of matter has set in with the peach,
apple, pear pieces, improvise a symphony
against the surface, just firm enough
to liberate sense— rivers, trees, sky,
grass, all have a way of getting there
you will never know— the brain casts
itself into space, as, somewhere
beyond the Universe, something
eats us for dessert— tasty?
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