we exist in the liminal space
between super giants,
stretching
out between yawning suns
like rainbow ribbons—
constellations bridging
the gaps between who we are
and where we want to be.

cosmic dust
conspired to place us
on this pale blue dot
within two weeks
of one another.
we will persist
if only for the blink
of an eye.

stretched out
like an ellipsis...
a thousand miles
might as well
be a lightyear.
tell me, truly
do we trace
the same patterns
in the heavens
when we gaze
skyward?

plot a course,
trace the lines
between supernovas.
follow the star-map
to your front porch step,
hopping from one star
to another.

a corpse flower
blooms beneath
a blue moon.
stench of death
held aloft
right underneath
our noses.
once in a decade,
hang suspended—
stuck in the liminal space
between two moments.
for a hairsbreadth
we wait
on bated breath.
amorphophallus
titan arum.
a reminder that joy
is fleeting, a rarity
eclipsed by twilight.

if i should live
a hundred-hundred
lifetimes
i could die
ad infinitum
with no small
measure of joy
at a ripe old age
so long
as i never forget
your voice.

minor chords
in a haunting tone
purr from the car stereo—
late-night drive,
yellow glow
beneath interstate
street-lamps
interspersed
by passing headlights.

bound for a town
i hate, but carried
along by a firm, gentle
cadence. a vocal chord
melody coloring incessantly
outside the lines
of my psyche.

hydroplaning daydream
of kaleidoscopic color,
whispering insistently—
tempting me—to commune
with the gods and ****
the masters.
transport me
to your aurora
cosmic multicolor,
sonic wavelengths.

i used to pray god
would let me die. now i just
watch the clock standby.

two quarks
oscillate in patterns—
trapped and bouncing
within the shared prison
cell of an atom.

stitch me into the contours
of your garments, play
my tongue across your eardrum
‘till you quake like earth undone,
morning dew dripping
down flower petals
in your botanical garden.

hang me in the closet
with all of my skeletons,
fit the noose over my head
and wobble beneath
the weight of gravity,
balancing precariously—
an unstoppable force orbiting
an immovable object.

“how often can you come
to the edge
before you fall down?”
draw near to me
and dare the whims
of infinity.

languid waves
lap at the shoreline
as the wind
scoops up handfuls
of sea foam
to scatter
across sun-baked sand,
rolling lazily along
before disintegrating
into open air.
the faint hum
of the breeze
is whipping
past our ears
and the yawning
breathing of the ocean’s
gentle sheen
refracts sunlight
across white-crested
saltwater.

i can feel callouses
forming on the soles
of my feet
as i make my way
barefoot across the boardwalk.
little reeds sway
in the sand
and salt-eroded shells
are tiny lumps,
half-buried treasure chests.
a storm is brewing
on the horizon,
but the dark clouds
can’t quite cut down
the sun
from the heavens.

i am wandering
back and forth,
tugged along
by the ebb and flow
of the ocean.
oscillating
between the highs
and lows.
look
and see
the old watchtower,
the lighthouse
fallen into disrepair,
standing silent,
a sentinel
securing the shore.
witness the erosion of water.
know that
for a time
the tower stood tall and proud
an insulting finger
stretching towards
an apathetic sky—
defiant, to the end.

there is a pitter-patter
of witching hour
rainfall on the window
pane. a deep
and profound thunder,
the kind that made
our ancestors fear
the wrath
of imaginary gods,
resounds—
unfolding
across Tallahassee
hills, shaking
itself out of existence.

heat lightning
unfurls its tendrils
across a violent sky
illuminating
my bedroom
like a ******’s
spotlight. my dog
whimpers absently
in his sleep. i envy
him his nightmares.
what i wouldn’t give
to slip beneath.