Geometric Allegory

I heard the name God  In passing today. It surfaced  singular,  Up from the background  In a steady blur of conversation. "God." When I heard God,  I immediately thought of a magician.   That's what I automatically do: I envision A magician standing on a stage.    Is that strange? No matter the context —    Be it at a wedding,   A funeral,  In church Or on TV... Or even, as I've said,  As a single word overheard in a conversation— When I hear the name God I see God the Great There on the stage.  His suit fits him nicely, And atop H is head, A black velvet stovetop hat Blends into his thick, slicked-back hair. (As is custom, he pulls me from his hat, But not yet... Or not today) He wears a  flowing cape, too; It matches his black shoes, And his mustache, waxed,  Points like a tuning fork. I'm drawn to his dark, dimpled cheeks, A...

before time  a flow of words moved  through the multiverse as  vibrations in space,  frequencies searching for some  detuned radio  capable of receiving  the transmission of consciousness  Before time,  consciousness itself moved  through the universe at 4 trillion  times per second.  It was a vibration in space,  a specific frequency that spilled  out into the stars,  searching across every planet  and across every moon,  for a form of life  biologically equipped  to receive its transmission.  The consciousness was like  an infinite monkey,  and as infinite eventuality necessitates,  the vibration found its way  to a detuned radio  capable of receiving and transmitting  the great division occurred precisely  in that moment when  pure thought felt hunger,  and he knew he was a radio nonetheless,  a radio capable of transmitting consciousne...

Back then,  Deeper-space pulled itself  Into a tight circular ball,  And the collective dust of "ever was"  Fit neatly onto the head of a very heavy pin .  The weight gathered,  And with momentum, It dropped d own like a fruit-stone  Into a funnel-shaped well.  Sound reflected And mirrored back into  Something thick and labored.  As an open throat,  The well consumed everything It swallowed; But the fruit-stone,      that eternal vowel,  Split its yawn wide open.  Then it gargled up  The sound of a  Multidimensional static.  In that space,  We ceased spinning  Downward,  And the now-broken wheel  Compelled all the bits of dust  To shake loose:   The well emptied,  And like the graceful gesture  Of a tipping hat  In a spiral nose-dive, It filled the moment.  When the sounds dried up,  The well disappeared and  Revealed a newly formed l...

PZZZst.... (T)Here in the hall of records A radio-sound unspools like a silver thread. The sound is Pulled from the wheel And drawn from the horizon. It stretches out in a curved whole-note And always meets resistance from the static-frayed yarn Inhibiting this place. How many astronomers and poets Could not answer the Hexagonal Riddle? We cannot say, but they numbered many. They fell into an orb-webbed center And were caught on the convex surface. There, planets sequenced the space between Stars While discontented beetles Brought gifts to Ptolemy's wife, Queen of Cats.  We're standing here, you and I... I'm 7 or 8 and pissing in the toilet. In that moment, I think, "I'll never remember this..." I think, "I'LL NVER REMMBER THS MOMNT." Ah, but I do... And you do, too. [Stupid things they offer in these moments!] The beetles gathered in columns and rows to carry The message hidden in shredded rags. The seamstress would take these rag...