as you wait for the dust to clear from where your house fell, fires use its bones as kindling and bring clouds of dry lightning, gunshots in the distance, carbon fogs, nuclear shadows, storms up to your knees,
So many plans have been ruined by wrenches that we should rid the earth of them all: wrest them from metal workers and stonemasons, pile them up, burn them. A crowd gathers in the firelight, cheering the flames on, warmed by dreams of perfection.
In the heart of us are a set of bagpipes that blows the beat of a drum but is described as a hollow *****, like one in a church that echoes deep whalesong in the midst of a funeral. Our mom had rules for visiting the newly departed, lest their spirits attach to ours: Take home no food, or the dead will hunger. Wash your clothes, or the dead will wear your skin. Don’t go straight home, or the dead will follow. Starved and *****, we wandered through IKEA and nearby coffee shops to deposit our lost and beloved friend in a final resting place before heading home our empty and quiet home.
we are a mass of sun-fearing people bowing as she bows, rising as she rises, dancing as she makes her way across the sky. our earth turns to bask in more of her and speaks in hushed voices as she sleeps. let there be light: and there she was, just like that, the source of all that glimmers, the source of all that burns.
go back to your roots -- so I dug, knuckles deep in mud, where the roots were thickest. Worms tied themselves around my fingers; it had been a good year for rain. I dug past tunnels and underground kingdoms until the soil crumbled until pebbles became boulders became bone until spines stitched the earth shut, scars that once hemorrhaged something distant. I dug until my knuckles bled and dirt puddled into paludal flames. Sweat glistened in the lava light and sizzled drip by drip from my fingertips. For miles more ash choked me, pressure suffocated me, fire consumed me, ripped me up raw as I screamed, I kept digging until I scraped the last of molten earth aside and gazed onto what keeps an earth whole, what I’ve always known: the liquid fury within.