This poem is a part of the game of TELEPHONE, an exhibition of original and interconnected works by 1,395 artists from 933 cities in 65 countries. It starts with a single work – such as a film or a dance or a sculpture – and the next artist uses it for a new work in a different medium, like a painting or a poem, and on and on.
In my case I received a painting from which I wrote a poem. You can find for my work by going to the search function (upper left) and typing in my name. You can then work backwards to see how my piece and the pieces before it were inspired. Below is my poem.
Tomorrow, When the Planets Align
I will ask God to hold His breath
just to see how long He can do it.
And as He sucks it in, I will watch
as the cosmos stops and stiffens:
The topaz skies of Neptune
will pause their diamond weeping;
the volcanic mouths of Io
will cease their molten spew.
Wise men tell me that upon a time God
once used to breathe every day:
first upon the waters,
then resuscitating men of clay;
that the very Beginning was a Word,
and Creation, a poem
written on a parchment page
torn from who knows where,
hung on the wall between Heaven and Earth,
tacked up by moons both new and clear,
written in a language none dare speak,
only read by other poets,
that tells of the dark horse, Man,
who dropped a red apple offered him;
who then, untamable, reared and snorted,
throwing his pale rider to the ground.
Tomorrow, I will read it aloud –
God's Last Will and Testament –
because He will never breathe again,
and the Will leaves nothing for anyone.