Metamorphoses

For Ovid

by
Daulton Dickey.

After the clouds parted and dried up, the sky pointed its bluish mirror at the ground,
At two people—a man and a woman—tossing rocks behind them.

They each had picked up a rock from the muddy earth near their feet and tossed it over their shoulder. The rocks arched and hit the ground, bottoms buried in mud.

Time stalls. —What’s meant to happen? Then the rocks soften and droop and stretch out until each form the shape of humans.

Bones solidify, organs grow and develop, the brain evolves, blood forms and the heart pumps it. The people, ancestors of Romulus and Remus, stand and step out of the way as two more rocks hit the ground.

On each rock, nature had formed images of ideation: every person reflected the concept or thought,
Every human being a possible model or actor in a scenario invented on a whim.

These creatures, this new species, evolved over many generations; with them, thoughts, concepts, images. Complexity distorted, dislocated, and displaced simplicity—and with it the feral luxury of awareness.

Everyone performed roles within their groups: humans had evolved to change personas and perform in the theater of life. That’s the key, the secret.
Only the greatest performers thrive.
Those not familiar with the game, or how it’s played, or how to play it, dissolve into the dust of each passing second.

Everything obtains in a state of metamorphosis. In the infinite gaps between seconds, the universe,
And everything inside it—including you and me—undergoes change.

Farmers tilling the soil never uncover the same creature twice,
Every object in the universe shifts,
Personalities shift from one second to the next—
Every tick of the clock signifies change.

Yet here I sit: imprisoned in a universe in which I hemorrhage too much energy and time
Forcing what’s already always underway.

I’m forever a rock morphing into a person, forever a person transforming into dust, re-forming as a rock,
As an object some hand deems worthy of tossing over a shoulder.

 

Surrealist Daulton Dickey lives with his wife, kids, and pet human-lizard hybrid in a universe he created. He’s the author of Elegiac Machinations, Bastard Virtues, Flesh Made World, and Dig the Meat Music (forthcoming from Nihilism Revised) Contact him at lostitfunhouse [at] gmail [dot] com

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