David Mills


Why be distinct? Be gooped—
a card-carrying plebeian of untold,
goopiness. Assume no kneecap nor
responsibilities, just be gooped
in the clam chowder of cosmic
consciousness. Embrace your divine
right to be gummed in the interstellar
spackle encircling the big blue horrible;
sunbathe ensconced between black holes
masquerading as chocolate pom-poms. Accept
that you’ve been goopized, that space is
a French onion soup and you’ve cracked
the crust. And like a drop to the commode
you are now one with the curd—the broth.
And when and if, or if and when, someone dips
a spoon in your goop galaxy, embrace
your ethereal slurpiness;
bask in the fact that you are now part
of the cosmic goop consciousness and can
attend complementary goop therapy sessions:
but really there’s no need—because there’s no you.

David Mills is the author of two books of poetry — The Dream Detective and The Sudden Country, a book-prize finalist. His poems have appeared in Ploughshares, Crab Orchard Review, Jubilat, Vermont Literary Review, The Literary Review, Callaloo and Brooklyn Rail. He has had poems displayed at the Venice Biennale.