When December turned into January, an asteroid hit earth. Its wind blasted slowly like a star fighter, and with typical terrestrial extravagance, it chose to be a pest. Akin to osmosis, it grazed through our skin and colored our bones in with a lampblack crayon, staying within the lines like an adult.

Now we're cold and dry like arid ice, floating still in our cryonic incubators as we wait for this seven year interlude of misfortune to thaw. With nothing to do but think, we wonder if the Ship of Theseus is a bittersweet immortal soul, or if every last cell really does replace itself.

These bones were not carved out of ablution
Emptiness dominates over its seats
Has nothing to do with purification
And still despite spite, it’ll cling to release

Satiety thrives from eleven to five
Your recommended low is a bit out of reach
My mind physiologically cannot survive
Independent of a body that cannot stomach meat

A charm type thing,
Chin tucked and fetal
In a fidgeting palm served
Backhandedly the gaudy and the game,
Bearing almond ballads sealing
Enveloped crashes that call
Error only and only at the apex —

Send it over!
The donor, the coroner, the serve

Get a load of this —
Cyanide and benzy
Deem it immobile and unlucky,
Then drop it where it’s jammed
Twist out the backlash and the proof
With that hundred dollar rubber,
Salt off your poison strategy-threat

But here it is
A desolate grid

The injury is mitigated
After choking in the womb