to bite the hand that feeds
flourishes the flowering
at the watering spring

the hand that wills away the cloud
and its cover of the sun

the hand that is sure that it will bring
and is more certain of this than anything
to bite until it bleeds,
runs dry of its demand

and is sure of its defeat,
and will not heal again

to gnaw on its sore tendons
til the bone is crippled, sanded dust
fragile, failing
fleeting and
feeding despite the wound
because it's sure it can
and if it can, it's sure it must

from what I know, most space breathes the same soft tone

the same still sigh

Jupiter's air is different
loud, thick and wet as the deluge pours heavy from forever storms

Mercury's is hot, dries my mouth and lends itself barren
only lives to whistle wind through the cracks of my ship

but the further I get out of this system of satellites
and the smoke-like facicles that bleed around my distant homes

the more stars collapse wearily into themselves

the more I see the bright, violent birth of hungry black holes

the more I realise I might truly be alone

I sip, poor
on my nepenthe
stroking skin
the glass holding poured antidote
I sip and swoon, devote
I'd swim in it
even as it takes its pities
never part with the piment
the earth stills
slows its cities
and I take a sip of him
the warmest regrets
gnaw at my regard
cathartic, quiet egress
my minds reach not so far
as to want for them again
I sip, so poor
on my nepenthe
drink 'til it pours cold
it offers up its pities
pardon any sentiment
of the sorrow it erodes
it offers up a numb
I can't deny consoles

I fight off an atlas ache
I breathe in, it offers a twinge
I roll my shoulders

"what are you gonna say?"

my ribcage stiffens against the skin where it resides
my throat feels like I've never drank

"I dunno."

storm clouds somewhere surely hang
I'm sure they do, it's still so wet outside
petrichor lingers dense and sweet, clinging to the greenery

"this is important. you have to stand up to her."

not impatient, but not eager to waste any time
I'm not eager to waste hers
but mine matters less simply because it is mine

"man, I know."

but she asks for something I'm not sure I can give
if I was to give anything, it'd be my femur bones
here, take these, I don't use them anyhow
maybe you can use them to bat around your enemies

"it's important for you."

something swift and slick and discreet
slides past my lips

"ehhh."

a comedic groan, but still

its not just me, its the legacy.

operose, to open rose
slaves to pull its petals down
the time it takes to bloom them out
a senecan stoic to peter his prose
to hide under its sharp thorned nose
pops the top till the flower pouts
dust to dust on its soil mound

e                       I don't quite know what's worse.                     p

             Being 100%, completely broken
                      i
                                        ­                                               c
Or being 99% completed, and never seeming to find the last...


                                         e