words

there are superpositions
wherein parasitic raiders descend like bats,
shrieking echoes from their eyes
or hiding underneath the quiet moments
of zero kelvin, all movements trapped
where there is peace,
if only in these cold fractals.

secrets reside in those denominations,
silent, waiting for us like spiders
of another kind, free to move about
and wrap us in temporal cocoons,
saving us for later.

everyone and everything is frozen,
this and all forms of consciousness
mere cobwebs
waiting to burn in the big chill.

2019sm