The Age of Drifting Grease

In an age when sun, moon, mountains, and rivers drifted like floating grease,

even the dark sky had no name for it.
A great whale older than the gods,
stranded on the starry beach.
There trees began to grow,

and humans were the earth.
It was trembling mud,
that was born from filthy blood.
Gazing up at the pure white snow,
we found mirrors and powder,
rouge, gowns, jewels, and wigs.
In an age when sun, moon, mountains, and rivers drifted like floating grease,
we lighted deceptive lamps on the dead earth,
making the rotting reed marsh look like a sky full of fireflies.

In an age of drifting grease,
history had decayed.
In an age of drifting grease,
the most exquisite language,

had yet to be born from our lips.