How much you wanna bet? Quick, quick, quick!
None. He’s right there!
Coward. You’re a coward.
NCRC Building 28, 5:00PM, 11/19/2024
it’s true: only cowards yield. i walk outside and avert my eyes at the inevitable sunset, the reunion of sun and moon, if only for an instant. one, perhaps fearing the stare of the other, blushes and peeks out of sight. there is a boy picking at weeds, at the flowers that have managed to sprout. there is no object permanence; every night is eternal, every morning a razor against the stem. above, the universe looks on, forlorn. for what being it has created, this parcel of stardust living on a speck of sand! we are sunrays, stones, cycles, and as such, condemned. swallowing words, yielding glances, circling the event horizon, knowing that time dilates, and perhaps preferring this unknown to the unfathomable.
I’m all for feminism, but there is a part of me that wants to go home and stay home and just eat pie…
Trader Joe’s, 12:30PM, 11/24/2024
after Susan Ertz: “millions long for immortality who don’t know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon”—
it is an anger in the sky, cared for like a seed and cursed at like a storm. i come home to a polygon of light, green and pulsating–alive, as you would call it, though it is not capable of thought, or is at least intelligent enough to hide it. a modesty born of horror, you and i: an acid in the rain, a tangible tartness in the air. the door creaks open and you emerge, handsome as ever. i take your hand, as your woman, your man, it does not matter. arm in arm, a reversal of mitosis, two cells merging into one. the light begins to sing, an angel harmonizing with mother nature’s screams.
It’s a mess everywhere and you want to complain about a spot on the carpet?
Detroit Metro Airport, 6:00PM, 12/16/2024
consider the idea of a memory palace, a world within worlds, a dam to filter your stream of consciousness. watch as the beaver lays the foundation, mats the cracks with mud and other antiquities. you spot a marble wedged in one of the crevices. blue, brilliant, too smooth to be natural, too beautiful to be manmade. we dust ourselves in metaphors–allegories, alleged and analogous–when we are missing the words. in another universe, another parable, there is no Joy. no Disgust, no Anger, no Sadness. in place of a control panel, a river: wild and untamed and free.
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