Geological Porn

The money shot continues for billions of years.
There is only a single layer of charcoal
above a grimace of nickel.
An asteroid rips the sky in half
with a pizza, thinks about knocking–
then just impatiently crams it into the hole
it made itself to save time.
Film is running low.  
The stone moans, squeals and swims around in nothingness
until The Post-coital Period when it becomes
the first cigarette to ever be smoked.
Twirling around its neighbors drowsily and a little sore.
A star it barely knows asks if it was good,
but it won’t be able to answer for eons.
Millions of lightyears away a dim visage of form
pulls up a distorted signal, the faint movement and sound
of two bodies meeting appears and another universe
awakens, comes to climax and quickly scurries
into darkness before the light finds it, asking, “What are you
watching?”  
It pulls the bedsheet answer over its bodiless substance
and continually rehearses the faint decadence
it guessed at
in order, one day,
to replicate it.

Brennan Burnside is a weather phenomenon moving in-between upstate New York and southeastern Pennsylvania.  His work has appeared in Monday Night Lit, Fjords Review, Gravel and Atlas and Alice among others. He blogs in an erstwhile fashion at burnsideonburnside.tumblr.com