Summer 2002 • Vol. XXIV No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 2002 |

The Splinter Groups of Breakfast

     1.      Not even nothing existed yet.      Emptiness, even, didn't exist.      And He-who-by-definition-precedeth-nothing      said—well, you know what He said,      in that grandiloquent King James way of speaking.      And there was light. From language—light.      And then the heavens, then the earth: a sequence:      a narrative. Fish; beasts; us:      a story. The story,      of God and of the power of the Word.                                                                But      at the same time—and by this, I mean      at the start of time—Nainema shaped      the forests out of his spit. At the same time,      Bumba vomited up the sun,      the moon, the stars, then "strained"      (a euphemistic translation of "shat"?) out      Ganda Bumba the crocodile, and Pongo Bumba      the eag

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Albert Goldbarth has been publishing collections of poetry for over four decades, two of which two have received the National Book Critics Circle Award. His latest, Selfish, was published by Graywolf Press in May 2015. He tests his patience by living in Wichita, Kansas.

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     1.      Not even nothing existed yet.      Emptiness, even, didn't exist.      And He-who-by-definition-precedeth-nothing      said—well, you know what He said,      in that grandiloquent King James way of speaking.      And there was light. […]

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