Jon Ogden
1
White. Every documented fact has started with a blinking black line in the
top-left corner of a one-inch-margin box.
2
I believe I was born blinking. I believe I was born Siamese—I mean, my mother’s
brain and mine are inside of me.
3
Then earth came clean, rubbing Adam’s dream from my ribs—she grew gills and
fins—some backwards evolving beauty earth is.
4
She shrinks herself from eel to amoeba, wavers her flagella, swims away. God
rides on her back. Eden slithers. Black.
5
There are bird bones in the clouds. How they fly too. Ribs as wings. Words
stream: how we come too.
