I The break - EXPLOSION - Spheres in motion bust- ing free from their triangle-nucleus, Empowered blurs, obeying higher laws of action and reaction, without pause collide and bank, reverse and finally slow from streaks to stripes and solids, numbers show, and one man reckons the events he's caused on a Friday evening in the pool hall. The man is hustling billiards for fortune. To him these balls are sacred numbered runes. He reads the way they lie after the break. Surveying eye - the crucial space from bank to ball to pocket. Calculating brow - the right amount of English to endow upon the cue in its trajectory. He knows the art of reading what could be. II But what could be is not what is and, save what will be when again the poolshark waves his chalky wand and conjures these dull globes to chaos, what is now is this. Zero tension, no relation, thirteen rounded objects float at random in a bounded sea of felt. This is how things really are. For example, if you take a picture of the hustler, arm-tattooed and sideburned, an oracle will not develop. Words cannot change reality. A thousand words rattle like dry bones in Delphic sand. III He whips the wrists that loose the staff and - CRACK - The universe explodes from white and black to rainbow fire. He reads, and reckons all. God of four corners. Seer of the pool hall. |