Selections from Daed End Edible

(With this audio supplement.)

Initially, nothing was. Or little. A wish perhaps. A miniscule at most, mush mote of a beginning: a black bubble. A blow of black air puffed barely in a blink, black splash of lacquer, a lashing lapse in the void. Yet none knows whose null voice hewed hoisting huge that first black laughter, space or age or matter.

And earth, pimply testis of ontology, taught the trees to tricklechurn with dreaming and whistle. And listen, this million-dicked earth did dig dirt and sperm and sure did swim, so birthing birds and women and insects and squirrels. So much world, so much incest.

Blessed order came of this, in piece and species, sex and predation. Squirrelman and squirreldame damned to nature. But humans choose to hew us, and that is why it’s okay to be eaten by a wolf.

I amble. I amble and am both brash and slowfully mobile, iambic, going not back but barely—only noticeably so, but beaucoup passionate, y’know? So broken-nosed and black-of-dirt, I half would hurt myself to heal with you if you were worried or feeling furious. And when I feel your fur, your faint and nervousness, your jerkiness, well, it works. It really seems the beats of my black-blood-burning word don’t really capture it. I guess I meant: we’re friends aren’t we?

I can definitely get or got a little or a lot defensive about velocity—that time by the river, ripped the ribbits’ rhythm, rent my heart in ribbons, like even frogs fucking mocking me with seed, repeat repeat. And stars’ light leers and leaves me lost like hard-backed lardass darkeling black to tears to turn and tear the turquoise ocean eyes, tortoise-tired, running ripedly.

I mean, you like me, right? I can go faster if I have to, but don’t laugh. They say long legs make for greener lake-feed or feasted. I’m not afraid, just frayed about the dream’s mental edge, y’know? And speed in thought and in walking wants for observation and lost a lot of mushrooms along the way, say, where trees chiseled chimney trails in train, moving music in the sky. Those traits are important too, I think.

Anyway, maybe we can sort of compromise. I’ll try to, like, y’know. And can you slow perhaps that slapping heart a bit? Cause life’s not all in a fast back-beat y’know. I mean, just go and ask how fast home happens.

Or how it happens, how a black-vast cloudmass has house. How’d it happen ever? It never did, this dandy-damn, this deed before you meed, the billion babies billo-breaking pillo-praise waves. How’d they ever meet and choose and trust to bomb/bathe/bruise some who. It blew me to two ‘til you too truthed.

Its music-hued hymn hums moods. Mixed mewing moved mymusely. It must be, must be really numinous to choose who like that. Met me a many reputable reptile. Rebels, rilers. Or responsible, righteous, reticent, ripe-minded, beauteous but blued by grass, their beauty puked or booted, beat by beat or bat by hands bad, brutal. And brow. But breath or pound and powerpout and limb my limp loose-slinky legs and lips’ll listen, slung strings, skin-chill violo, or vehement-cello track I laugh of you do.

In all this muck-black murder-wide world, I choose and don’t ask why. My bone religion’s broken, rose-blind-dry hope. Come in to my shell and show me. Share our rhythms, your hair, our wrists written full of blood-blaring brood by my heart and hear our hard and barred peer pairing. Please come into my naked shell, my hole, and make it holy, hold the whole me, slowly chew chuck chupe trouble, chuff and trust us thusly metronomed—us until there is no other.