Make Art, Not War

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Eulogy for a giant (old class assignment in which I am to describe a rock)

Jupiter is dead.
In it's final throws, the planet compacted
to the size of a basket ball.
No bounce left though, no, no,
no, it shattered when it fell out of the sky.
The piece I have right from
the Titian's red eye
that infamous storm that swirls
reddest where the damage
is done most. It's deepest hues
like bruises that travel out
in layers like skin, the colors-
brick and mortar.

The smoothness of it's surface is the product of time passing over it's features with a fuzzy memory.
When I hold it in my hand all I feel is gravity.
It should be heavier. It's weight some unknown sum
GAS in the heads of scientists I've never met
but when I dropped it I heard thunder
CLAP into the corners of this mostly
vacant room.

I picked it up and mourned poor Jupiter.
One of our first gods
reduced to a throwing stone.

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