grey snow rushes at me
just how the world would be if i
understood it. the sky
is spread out, mystified, as if
i read its hieroglyphs
and from them gain the gift, the one
guidance long forgotten,
lest it pulls us undone. i read.

let’s pretend that our ancestors danced in forests and ate flowers
so that we can do the same, without feeling embarrassed,
because, really, we’re just honouring our forebears, their tradition.

the mouth of the wide vortex is in esse,
made of the same atoms as flowers and
oceans, organs and soundwaves, it demands
physics, laws, follows them with faithfulness
just like one of us. nothing more nor less
is it, no great power does it command:
in disbelief we shoot it from our land
back to its ‘place’, no boundaries transgressed.
how could we believe in those new places
viewed from the jaws of the living threshold?
that it’s all like our home, all vast and old
and developed. if we just go into space,
the secrets we long for would then unfold.
with care, accept the vortex’s embrace.

can i be one of the elite pretty too?
there are an apex species,
and they come in so many wonderful forms.
they don't have to crush their jaws together
or **** in their bellies or fix their hair
when a camera is staring them down.
they smile and a million people smile back,
but less brightly than them.
they have a ticket to the highest floor of the building
in the pockets of their jeans that just fit them nicely.
so easy to love and want and crave,
and all for a construction of our own.