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Divine Howl
(after Allen Ginsberg)
I
I saw the divine spectrum burning through the skull of the cosmos, mad photon prophets
screaming ultraviolet psalms to voids where gamma-ray seraphim pierce the veil of night,
who lit Tesla coils in desert chapels, who soldered quantum crucibles in basements
pulsing with the same electricity that shook Ezekiel’s bones by the river Chebar,
who mapped the Sefirot onto radio waves, who drank communion wine laced with
Maxwell’s equations, who fucked in particle accelerators chasing God’s climax—
the Big Bang’s afterglow still sticky on their thighs—
angelic engineers with oscilloscope eyes, measuring YHWH’s sine waves in the static
between stars, who heard the Virgin’s voice in the hiss of cosmic microwave background,
who crucified Schrödinger’s cat on a cross of polarized light, resurrected it as a biophoton
dancing in DNA’s double helix, who declared entropy the original sin and entropy’s heat death
the Rapture we’re too dumb to fear,
who plastered lab walls with Kabbalah trees grafted to Feynman diagrams,
who broke their teeth on Euclid’s geometry to gnaw the fractal bones of Ezekiel’s wheel,
who swallowed prisms to vomit rainbows they called “the many-colored coat of Joseph
stitched by photons from the loom of Betelgeuse,”
who knelt in silicon valleys praying to the transistor’s holy trinity—base, emitter, collector—
who sold their retinas to Lidar drones scanning heaven’s firewall,
who built AIs to parse the Talmud in binary and found God’s name hidden in the glitch
between 1 and 0, the infinitesimal crack where light leaks through—
II
What sphinx of cement and aluminum devoured their visions?
MOLOCH! Whose skyscrapers are cages for the spectrum!
MOLOCH! Who strangled the ultraviolet mystics with fiber-optic nooses!
MOLOCH! Whose Wi-Fi towers blast the 2.4 GHz hymn of distraction!
MOLOCH! Who sold the aurora borealis to ad agencies!
MOLOCH! Whose textbooks dissect the rainbow into profit margins—
ROYGBIV reduced to RGB, the trinity of screens that hypnotize
the masses into forgetting gamma rays birth stars in Orion’s womb!
MOLOCH! Whose colliders smash quarks but not hearts!
MOLOCH! Who replaced the Burning Bush with LED billboards!
III
I’m with you in Rockland,
where you’re strapped to the MRI’s cold altar,
brain lit like a supernova as the machine chants tesla tesla tesla,
your synapses firing canticles in the key of 7 Tesla—
I’m with you in Rockland,
where we’ll turn the psychiatric ward into a chapel of coherent light,
lasing our psalms until the walls dissolve into God’s original white noise—
I’m with you in Rockland,
where we’re free to fuck the void and birth new spectra,
where the asylum’s fluorescent hum is the first note
of the symphony we’ll sing at the universe’s funeral—
a requiem in gamma, a dirge in infrared,
our bodies finally tuned to the frequency
that unzips the sky.
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