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Melodies XLIX; The Falling Out
We, once acquainted, have definitely experienced a falling out.
Our words collide and clash; our nouns, verbs, and hesitant
tenses no longer agree. A hundred languages compete.
Dimensions skew around us. immodestly, they no longer even
attempt to conceal their promiscuous exertions---transformative
shock of the skewed and skewered, always falling out.
At that place on the horizon, where sea and sky once met
(toward which we had laughingly aimed our small boats before
they all sank beneath us), an inchoate shape is writhing wildly.
("Why did you have to mention the boats?---the suddenly windless
sails, the broken masts, the shattered hulls? Were my eyes
intact, I would weep; but these hollow sockets remain always dry.")
Insectoid swarms frolic across every terrain, every depth and height.
Their relentless stridations have nearly deafened those of us whose
ears remain functional, or even partly so. Sleep is difficult now.
The media (had any media survived) might have called them "mega" swarms.
The hives they have built menancinlgy belittle our tallest towers. We still
fail to understand their communications, yet we know quite well what they want.
We failed to anticipate these events, but we know very well that they mean.
Starward
