absurdsense

like nightmares roasted on a playground's sandpit, crackling on the spit shedding sound like a snake shedding skin amplified a thousand times by a microphone delicately held in the coiled proboscis of a moth hovering with wings stamped with black eye-spots which scare a bird off sometimes, beak parting to emit blackboard screeches at the sight of eyes staring back with simulated hunger, screeches that recall the shouting of every animal at every animal whose jaws part to devour and then to scream for their own lives, cries that reverberate in one instant where all things exist without purpose as curious sculptures removed from time, the universe now a single motionless object, if seen from the right angle; every animal has turned to amorphous snakes winding limp coils around favored places; a clear spring or a shady tree which now bears the green leaves of every summer splayed on each branch awkward as a hand with thirty fingers, and each leaf also drifts to the winter floor in waterfalls of autumn color slowly faded to cracked gray to loose brown soil, just where the new-formed snakes finally halt and sink into the soft ground, anchoring themselves to the earth where fungi explode in rings to bind at their loci the intersection of life and dirt. There is no other instant than this, say the mystics to no one while gathering at a Buddha's feet and the Buddha does not say anything just as the sky and the grass do not say they are blue and green.