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.