Universal Void Theory
by Amber Renee

Right now        there’s a storm raging on
a planet far away, one you’ll never
see, can hardly imagine, wasn’t even
a thought, until I said something.

Right now        there’s a galaxy larger than our own, &
so much so ( as ) to be its
very own containment necessary. Big.
Far.      So far so ( as ) that not even
a telescope
invented 100 years from now would
be able to see it.

Right now        there's a universe held captive, & it
bound by a corrupt current. //Buoying on the crest of a
wave’s spiral arm-like galaxy. //One we don’t find ourselves inhabiting,
this lifetime anyway.

//Oh phantastic deliverance!
(rapid succession of longings & flesh like
first consciousness stumbling in the dark before
Shadow. A lit match strikes lumination.)

All is well.

It takes place   out there
on the other side of a wormhole          where…


Colors through X-ray swim together;
splashes on eternal darkness like a blip
in some sea of voidness, texture like braille atop
the scene;
beautiful as      )) ink stains
the sharpest paper.

A sight, I’ll tell you.


Hazy in the background are the monstrous
planetary surfaces sleeping in semi-darkness, waiting
to erupt their brilliant colors beautiful: screaming
oranges and weeping wisps of deep purple,, , I bet.

Have you heard of the ones who live here?  Planet to planet, gliding
effortlessly in-between.

It’s a rainforest
in its own regard. Dark & unknown,

with species as of yet. ////

I see them swimming by in the murky stretch
between star, nebula, & those
Entity Archetypes playing the part of matter or mass.

They are colorful


planets, little mass-heavy soulfuls, ,, easy & putrid, soft &
inevitable.  //With hundreds of legs
& thousands of arms..

They make no noise.

They leave no mark, //their

winding-like maze, mystery archetypal-universe (…) hiding static
wave or dimension,
stony black in the open.

& in the open, a
hidden treasure without being one.


Right now..      Look up..
Look to the sky &
know that if your eyes were that of
a God’s, you could see this galaxy.

sleeps so far away.

Has the English language
invented a word for that
kind of distance?

Right now,       look up. These are not
just words. And although the imagery
lives alone in my mind, the concept holds
some kind of truth.

Somewhere out there exists
another solar system somewhere
we haven’t yet discovered. (&
maybe never will.)

Right now,       look up. Because
some / thing
may be looking down, & wondering about
Life in further space.
Some thing, some existence (out there)
cannot imagine us, I bet.

We are a tall-tale. We are storybook.
We are their science-fiction.  & with it,

comes a sort of idle affliction. It’s called nonsense—
& mostly it comes in waves. Some say GOD. //Me??

Well, I just say Love less, Hate less, Need less. For,
what are we but just a grain of salt on the
identical shore of a cosmic millenias?

Love less, Hate less, Need less.  For what are we but a stroke upon
painted masterpiece,
the ONE TRUE COLOR & essence. I just say

Love less, Hate less, Need less. For,
what are we but

A single poem about imagery & aliens some
girl on earth wrote, forged in breath & letter, when
there’s an endless possibilities for
Alpha & beta.

Love less, Hate less, Need less.

Look up.
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About barkingsycamores 183 Articles
Barking Sycamores is a literary journal entirely edited and operated by queer neurodivergent people of color. We publish poetry, artwork, short fiction (beginning with Issue 3), creative nonfiction (beginning with Issue 8), and hybrid genre work (beginning with Issue 9) by emerging and established neurodivergent writers as well as essays on neurodiversity and literature and book reviews (beginning with Issue 10).

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