The curvature of bodies.
The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice—and injustice.
The curvature of the earth is imperceptible, but it bends toward sunrise—and sunset.
The curvature of bodies is slippery, elusive, but it bends toward truth—and enigma. Like a cloak. Like a child.
Bodies are cloaked in their own alluring, inviting, beckoning plenitude and curvature. They retreat over the horizon of themselves—the plumpness of a calf, the apple of a cheek—and draw the eye with them into darkness and doom. Into their lady-recesses. Their secrecy. Pretty scary, yes. Pretty scenery though.
The curvature of time. The pregnancy of space. Moon-swallowing. Mind-shattering.
Around the curve of the white-cheeked moon
The night’s face gouged with her scalloped spoon
She licks and sips with trembling lips,
Cements and seals her own eclipse.
.
What lies concealed around the curve
Of the white-cheeked moon will shatter nerve
And end the life of mortal man
Emerged from darkness, drowned again.
Around the curve of the white-cheeked moon
Notched by the teeth of her scalloped spoon
Darkness she sips with trembling lips,
Cements and seals her own eclipse.
What lies concealed around the curve
Of the white-cheeked moon will quite unnerve
And spoil the plans of modern man
To supersede his mortal span.
Sooth, a silly song. In my opinion your opinion that this is a silly song is a silly opinion. Cary Grant. Marilyn Monroe. Monkey Business. Hello? Griffith Park Zoo. Snake department.
First light was last light was alright when the circle married the line (from another silly song).
