i. Again with these nights like oceans they come in fast and strong— it’s easy to forget just how much of this earth is coastline— roughly the same distance as from here to the moon. ii. Distance first is cruel, and then kind, and then necessary— our closest star is alpha Centauri, and it isn’t even a star, but two, a visual binary, close, at 23 AUs, or 3,440,751,030 km, so take that as […]
In the weeds and getting pretty damn salty– this week descends into the colloquial– no well-heeled words could ever do it justice, too upscale, they don’t get tired out, stretched to cover multitudes, they miss nuance, don’t say just how weary it gets– preservation, versus hanging on the line– only one hints at the prospect of falling, but knows that you won’t, as you can swing it, babe, you’re golden– is hope in the fucking rough
Late at night it gets so hollow– the stars precise, nearly clinical, the silence of it all silencing all. So now we’ve learned it’s possible to choke on open air this cold– it leaves a bitter taste, and once again open space is not the end all be all that I always expect, having failed to differentiate the land from the promise we’ve attached.
This day won’t budge it’s thick as ice caked on a west- facing windshield at once dense and brittle with its inherent duality of fragility and danger we only expect one at once at least I am surprised when a weakness has a weakness surprised to find the crack in the monotonous heaviness that cannot last it always does itself in in the end there’s an end there always is.
OPTIONAL POETRY 