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Ashley Kay Nov 3
A cross section of a man
Bones pointing to the high
Road, I lower into sloped layers
With an asymmetric smile
Built from earth up, jagged
edges slowly erode away
Ashleykay2021
Ashley Kay Oct 28
Minerals in the
rain make love to
sun dried stone,
gently scraping
off surficial
coatings,
honey comb
contours, skin
never the same
Ashleykay2021

Geology glossary:

Surficial: of or relating to a surface, especially the land surface.

Honeycomb Weathering: is a form of cavernous weathering and subcategory of tafoni that consists of regular, tightly adjoining, and commonly patterned cavities that are developed in weathered bedrock.
Cam Mar 22
I read that The Colorado River
is pinned down like a snake
used to be that
(before the one-armed-man was king)[1]

the feet of the river
would pick up and move
across the Sonoran dessert
they’d trample laundry lines

and capitalist enterprise
now the snake is still
breathes still it is captive
under 15 concrete collars

the next time it sheds its skin
is geologic time. beyond generational
in geological time the flooding
of the Glen Canyon is a frame

skip, but a ski boat’s wake is forever.
a vast inland sea, even
castles in the sky need moats.
impenetrable as the air

the whole shebang un-erodes,
it becomes nothing
squeezed between ghosts
and immaculate parking lots
December Mar 2020
There used to be spaces
Between falling asleep and waking up
Spaces without emotional gravity
Where it gets hard to breathe, and I am turned inside out

There used to be spaces
Between pale fingers and heavy shoulders
Spaces cold with longing
For a breathing, comforting warmth

Where these spaces used to be
There's now you

Within every weary crevice, your presence flows
Every touch a lingering sediment, filling pieces that were once broken
Fossilizing fragile parts that were once left to die

Where these spaces used to be
There's now you

Patiently holding me through the varying magnitudes of my earthquakes
Silently bearing my uncalled eruptions
So accepting, of my faults and folds

There used to be spaces
Where what was precious to me were only the gemstones I collected

And where these spaces used to be,
There's now you.
Thomas Goss May 2019
1.
the star shine
still crushes me

there,
in the dying light of June,  
hungry shadows of discontent
invaded our weary hearts

2.
strips of light,
clouds rushing by
the stark moon

3.
I was very sick then
and knew what would
never be touched

and the pale face
slipped into the pale hands

4.
it was raining

I remember
the last moments
when we kissed

it was

so slow and precise:
the careful brushing of ancient dirt
off of an emerging fossil
Six times life has trembled,
At the passing of apocalypse.

Each time,
Three causes were possible:

Heaven,

Hell,

And Earth.

From heaven, asteroids could fall,
And throw up curtains on the world,
Or passing waves of cosmic fire
Would strip away the clouds.

From hell, the waters of Styx
Might slip through terrestrial cracks,
Then rise as gas,
To heat the world as sheets of floating glass.

Between the two:
Animals themselves
Could mediate the flow
Of Earthly poisons.

Of the three apocalypses
Born on Earth,
Their horsemen are:
The progenitors of atmosphere:
Primordial Cyanophyta,
Then Archeopteris, first of the trees,
And inventor of the root,
And last:
Humanity ourselves,
The apes who play with fire.

Apocalypse number one was caused
When Cyanophyta -
Named for the blue-green colour
Possessed by these bacterial worms -
Learned to inhale the Sun.

They breathed in photons,
Filtered through a heavy atmosphere,
And exhaled an ocean of oxygen,
That filled the skies with ******.

Then the world was a canvas painted
With a single simple transformation:
The land – which then was only iron –
Was touched, naked
By the breath of blue snakes
And so the wide metallic continent of Ur,
Was racked from coast to coast
With rust.

The world’s iron skin absorbed oxygen like cream;
So that, when the global epithelium
Could take no more,
The new air rose,
And thinned the heights,
And all the gathered warmth of centuries
Escaped into the stars.

Then – an interlude of flame –
Comets fell on reddened ice,
And the planet’s molten core restored
The stratospheric glass,
And the world was hot once more.

Next, Archeopteris:
First of the trees,
As plant life rose to giants,
The primal soil of Gondwana
Was infiltrated
By the evolution of the root.

As vascular limbs drilled down to earth,
They plundered minerals,
From which these new goliaths
Grew fronds,
And then, upon the giants’ deaths,
Their carcasses were ill received
By little lives
Who could not hold their salt.

Then came the chaos of holy war:
Heaven rained and hell spilled up,
And so passed end times three and four,
Up to the kaleidoscope of teeth and claws
That was the age of dinosaurs.

Now the fifth apocalypse
Was Chicxulub:
A worldstorm in a meteor,
So named for baby birds
And the sound of Armageddon:
Xulub!
A knight in igneous armour,
Who killed the dragons of Pangaea.

Now, to the sixth.
As yet far less fatal than the rest,
But the first apocalypse
With eyes and ears,
Who sees the fire its engines breath,
And to its own destructiveness attests.

We began in the trees,
And once the planes were cleared of predators
By mighty Chicxulub,
We moved out onto the grass,
Stood up and freed our hands,
And learned to play with fire.

With it we loosed the energy
In roasted meat,
And poured the new-found resource
Into intellect,
Then wielding sapience,
We humans spread:
The first global superpredator,
We preyed on adults of apex species,
Tamed the world,
Then dreamt of gods
Who placed us at its helm.

We noticed then,
The manifold atomic dots
On the cosmic dice that cast us;
And stuttered in shock.

Our dreams of stewardship
Were dashed on revelations,
That we are the chaos
In the inherent synchrony of dust.

Refusing all potentials
That mirror the errors of our youth,
We let the title ‘sentinel’
Drift from loosened fingertips,
Any now by morbid self-assertion,
We mark ourselves:
The selfish sixth apocalypse.
Hannah Hagemann Mar 2017
Sandstone Medicine
Teach me your lessons of resilience
Towering hundreds of feet above me
Iron Red-Orange
Made of Earth's blood
You've stood patient
as rivers lashed through you
trying to erode your body
as tectonic force roared upward
looking for something to give
But here you stand
Wearing your scars proudly
Now they adorn you
Like beautiful pieces of jewlrey
Telling stories of a time long before now
Sandstone Medicine
Singing to me songs of resilience
Chris T Dec 2015
Earth's lower mantle
is composed of magnesium iron silicate.
The lower mantle is 2000 kilometers thick,
so magnesium iron silicate makes up 38 percent
of the Earth's entire volume
leaving it the most common of our minerals

but You,
You are not magnesium iron silicate.
You are painite, our rarest kind of mineral.
You are painite reflecting all that is good and bright in the world.
Edit later gotta study for finals
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