The mystery has a name, Jeff Goldblum.
Slowly. We’re making a map of infinity.
From the beginning to the end of the world
is the closest we’ll ever get to immortality.
Don’t be the sea wall, be the sea. After
you’ve looked for everything else, beauty.
In any case Jeff Goldblum is eating an orange.
The truth gives him a terrible migraine
the way rain remains outside a windowpane.
He steps back for a minute and does something
with his eyes. I am certain this signifies. I am
certain James Watson won the Nobel Prize.
The double helix delivers a toast of champagne
to its fondest friend, the brain. Jeff Goldblum
stumbles into a movie theater, yelling. “You’re
in trouble, Felix! You’re in trouble!” His laughter
floats upwards, bubble after bubble. He returns
home and fucks his wife London into rubble.
We wanted the body and we got the soul.