Yes, you are. Straight, I mean.
Horizons curve
containing, defining margins, edges,
shapes, frontiers.
Galaxies speed away in sweeping curves of energy
doing and undoing themselves
in multiple births and self-abortions;
swerving in and out of being,
constantly lit
by refractions and diffusions of bentness.

The dead are very straight.
The archaic dead, mostly, are very straight.
Olduvai Gorge was filled with them
before Leaky bent them into
the shape of a hypothesis.

Yes, you are straight – I said before.
Not by death.
In a universe where motion comes in
swirling ellipses of radiance
bending back to kiss its tail,
straightness is outright obscene.
Impossible.
Heretical.

Not by death,
but by the endless orbiting of Life
ruled by warping, folding, self-caressing,
convoluting,
dervishing about in irrepressible madness.

Definitely, being bent out of shape
by cosmic modeling
is law.
To be thus twisted, as we are,
is the only straightness.
Therefore, my dearest, face it
Straight on (or should I say
Bent on?);
You are straight
as the intergalactic beam which snakes
back upon itself
across the universes.
And I love you dearly
as you are.

The visitation

We are visited by a terrible angel
-weaver of the woof

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