poem, poetry, thomas pynchon

TRAJECTORY

oh my shadow author
I read it all
your magnum opus
in one sitting

read until the gears.
in my brain ground together

needed to
for any hope of an ending
that though
frightfully, delightfully
savaged i might
feel complete
have worked out
the narrative trajectoty
of your death parabola

for this
to let every tick, spidsr
and tarantula of your telling
fill my braim with
the tough
silk of your web

not with quill and ink
or ballpoint or rattling
tommy gun of
typewriter

did you write this thing
commit to page, all
sluced and diced

but with the nose cone
of our decimation, needle
point of
such chain reaction

that those who ever read
brain-colonized, lived
that paranoid twisted
tormented
tantalizinv tale

once that seemed
adventure to warp
extemity
itself