A Mustard Seed

This me, not

me, this

spooky

action

from a

distance:

the games
begin

in
Eden,

where

particles

glittered

until

dim-bulb

fantasies

snuffed

them out.

These

undulating

hips and ribs;

those hot

hands on

our

dead flesh:

we are

ignorance

and bliss.

Words and image (c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved