Fuck What I Think I Know

 
I am a hobo in a magnetic flash
Of nuclear anarchy
Unless I’m nothing at all
Running through the layers of
Survival orations in a revival tent
Where the Depression was always
Always, since my first glimpse  
Of the eclipse in the unspooling
Of Time toward its infancy,
When the very sand and every cell
Reverses back into the rocks  
And then the mountains,
Amoebas and smoldering seas,
Nothing to stand on,
Nowhere to fly to
In an airless, starless beginning
Long after the Universe  
Had already grown old and free
Of its predecessors,
Erupting and invigorated,
Without and before  
The questions.