TWISTER

6 Y T W I S T E R S T E P H E N E D G A R A reeling blank propped up against The stretched and livid backdrop of the sky, It rips, black and top-heavy, through the fenced And farmstead-mottled plain a path, This turbine two miles high Of empty energy And aftermath, Debris Sucked spinning through its hollow core And flung around a giant centrifuge, Uprooted trunks and branches, a barn door, A roof the spooling pressures force To orbit in a huge And planetary sweep, The odd doomed horse Or sheep. A planetary sweep. And so, Our planet rides the empty gale of space Around the solar system, which with slow Aeonian rotation runs The light years round, to chase The vast galactic storm Billions of suns Perform. And whirling at the galaxy’s Crushed hub, they say, a vortex, a black hole Is hauling light in, stardust, the degrees Of Kelvin, spacetime and dark matter, 7 R Beyond the last control The laws of physics sought, To tear and shatter, And make nought. And so the world. And so the mind Coils in the gyre of its own consciousness, Touching on matter to drag up and wind Around itself (or wind around The infinite recess It keeps dissolving in And is not found). Here spin The scene, the utterance, the face, The sequence, dates you strive to reconcile, Emotions you unfold, feel and replace, Midnight obsessions you defer To your enigma file And hope the day will solve – They turn, recur, Revolve. ...