Eris

She cut the gossamer chain
to our dangling planet
and let us fall
down
down
down
into the deepest chasms of space.

And this she did at the moment
where all the world needed to fold,
touch, mark, combine, and come together,
a tangency made from the final pieces
welding into place,

and she looked on with steam
in her veins and bile on her tongue,
and just at that second where
the universe cradled the world
to tell it, “Good job, love. Good night,”
she flicked her machete and watched
it all plummet down.

The earth has suspended,
comrades,
and we cannot continue our year
until we have devised some fashion,
some mechanism to move us
forward once more.
Be it some wings made from our bones
or a parachute made from our skin,
we’ve only a matter of virgin time
to think
before in comes Aquarius
with his bucket of rum,
to out wash the world
in the thick swells of night again.

And to think things
were going so well–