"disproportionately" poems
Every time people start to rise up, a whole buncha problematic mess gets thrown around regarding VIOLENCE.
So, what is "violence" really?... It's the use of force. Plain and simple.
What makes folks uncomfortable (who are otherwise comfortable in this system) is that UPRISING IS A SOMETIMES VIOLENT (read: forceful) REACTION TO SYSTEMATIC VIOLENCE: Yes, just like the Hunger Games...
Thus, there are many types of violence...
The fact that we are paying taxes that are funding the genocide and ****** of people of color (here and abroad) is violence.
People with guns (former slave patrols and overseers, now cops) who come from outside our community and treat our folks as criminals on the daily is violence.
Capitalism, i.e. wage/property/ecology-based exploitation in the name of profit is violence.
The fact that LA County spends more $$ than anywhere in the world on prisons and police is violence.
The fact that the US locks up more of its own people than any other country on record is violence.
US aiding/funding the genocide of Palestinians at the hands of Israel is genocidal violence.
From Congress, to the boardrooms, to the classrooms, from the gaze, to the unwanted touching, to the **** to the pay, Patriarchy everyday, is violence.
A few people jacking some **** at Walmart or breaking a window is really minimal violence in comparison.
A couple people throwing **** at armed cops is not serious violence.
The idea of owning property that other must rent to live is violent.
Systemic, chronic, global insecurity in the form of material poverty is violence.
Wage slavery is violence.
Gentrification is violence.
The War On Youth, i.e. the School-to-Prison pipeline, and, thus the War-on-Drugs with its attending 76% recidivism rate in the prison-industrial complex, whose populations are disproportionately black males, is violence.
The fact that people can't go to the doctor and dentist, or eat food every day is violence.
Deportations are violence.
Homophobia is violence.
The world's largest global military that vaporizes people without due process in dozens of countries violating their biophysical and national sovereignty is violence.
The United States government sanctioning the ****** of non-white, but especially Muslim bodies across the world... is violence.
So, when you condemn violence, do you mean resistance?
Because there is a whole lot of violence you should be condemning instead.
Adapted from Emilio Lacques-Zapien
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
A list of words I cannot ever say
But I will have to say them every day
I am supposed to practice saying ice
Ice with spice and six o’clock
I will lie and say I did it all
But they all know my tongue will always fall
I googled it to find out what I do
My speech impediment is sadly true
I haven’t done anything about it since
My speech therapist gave me the final mint
I hated it, and it was all suppressed
But now I tell it, I always confess
I wonder if I do it without thought
Am I saying it right or am I not
And no one ever says a thing to me
(Except the boy I crushed on, that one week)
I don’t know if it changes who I am
But I’d still be better off talking like a normal man
It’s something that a lot of people have
But the harsher term makes me inexplicably glad
“Speech impediment”, now I’m special too
Deviancy just like my missing tooth
I always sing even though it sounds weird
Sometimes I avoid the words I’ve always feared
Not “just” the “sea” but “change”, “commotion” too
Especially when I read I’m conscious of how my tongue moves.
Not just that, but I spit and stutter
All my “spreading” is full of clutter
The judge says “Clear”, I have to try
But I could lose the debate, and feel like dying
I know I should grow out of it as a child
But habits stick after so many miles
Along with my disproportionately small hands
And legs and everything that makes me feel like no man’s land
Between a kid and the way I should be
At the age of seventeen
I wish it didn’t change who I am
(Is it just another reason I can't find a...)
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 7:21 PM UTC
*Pain gets written around one's eyes like eye liner, for all to notice
let it be known to all now, it's our prime entitlement, these days
"Citizen pain" has become our collective name for long, do we see?
by distributing misery disproportionately, they bestowed on us this glory.*
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
i am not just a pretty face and i am not just my sadness.
i am a question that has no answer.
i am a more than a collection of mistakes. i am a collection of words and photographs and more than a few good stories.
i am laughter and sarcasm and tears. a rebel with a forgotten cause.
i am compassion.
i am at once caring too much and too little. the world has never been enough for me.
i am forever picking up the pieces, forever apologizing even when i’m right.
i am a collision of mind and circumstance. a million bad memories set on repeat.
i am one long, sad requiem. i am the soundtrack to my days.
i am dismal, haunting images of regret. i strive to be part of the beauty around me.
i am a writer. i am a free mind with a shackled soul.
i am no one’s enemy and no one’s friend. i am alone and always have been.
i am jealousy and fear.
i am disappointment to myself and to those who knew me then.
i am a wrong turn and a snap decision.
i am selfish and guilty and i don’t know why.
i am unconvinced of everything. i am doubtful, disheveled, and disproportionately hopeful.
i am a creator of life and a healer of ills. i cry every day for what i’ve lost.
i am forever searching and i’ll never find it. i take comfort in the thought of the universe.
i am but a fleeting phantasm in this brief reality
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 1:49 AM UTC
I climb to the top of the mountain; it takes my breath away.
The pain in my lungs in my throat in my legs, it's all worth it
For that one sunrise or sunset or view or just sky and sky and sky,
Stretching up and up, farther than the eye can see, farther than the soul can reach.
The thorns in my feet from the desert trees are beautiful.
They let me know the sun has not won, there is still something stronger.
A red umbrella on a city street. Architecture, the wonderful kind,
The kind you can smell and taste and touch, endless interlocking triangles,
Windows that reflect and multiply and kaleidoscope the clouds.
Today, however, someone tells me that beauty is something different.
I am supposed to find it in photographs, in one immobile two-dimensional perspective.
Yes, the girl with the ruby lips has perfect proportions and smooth skin.
Yes, the waterfall is tall and the spray makes a thousand rainbows.
Yes, the black lines on the white page contrast perfectly, dramatically.
Beauty is a three-dimensional thing, an experience.
I am supposed to find it in photographs?
I love your laugh because it is imperfect;
Because your skin is freckled, your body less than impressive,
Your face disproportionately skewed when you smile,
Because you exist outside and beyond three dimensions,
You are beautiful.
So many things can be erased in photographs, like context
And subtext and imperfections. To take a photograph and make it perfect
Is to lie. I don't want to lie to you. I don't want you to lie to me.
Stop living life through a camera lens. Take off your rose-colored glasses and just see.
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 2:31 AM UTC
When over the rail bridge
on the sky autumn blue
clouds floated in cotton pieces
I longed for home.
The port light tower
and the masts of anchored ships
made me keen to reach home
like a sailor long on the sea
disembarking with dreamy eyes
thinking if at all is one home
a tender lip awaiting his sunburned cheek
or if he would retrace to the waves
and someone waiting was only in his head.
I was at Remount Road an old station
with home not really that far
and disproportionately small to my yearning.
I was making a brisk walk
and when at the door
fell into a reverie of
rail bridge
anchored ships on the port
white on the autumn blue
and the small station
Remount Road.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 7:22 AM UTC
We fell all the time.
It was a matter of balance.
Our inner ears and eyes
Struggled with gravity; and
Being upright is our gravest concern.
So, we always stood again,
Revolving around equilibriums:
Bikes, ledges and feet;
Everything was a test. Everything needed balance:
Wheelbarrows, roof peaks and checking accounts.
I've learned balance for adults
Is even more precarious.
Our words are heavily weighted,
And some more disproportionately than others,
With see-saw issues and teeter-totter opinions.
Isn't it easier to get back on the bike
Than walk back unbalanced arguments.
May 17, 2021
May 17, 2021 at 11:32 AM UTC
She abstracts me from thinking in correspondence.
The symbiosis between us is an ilk drawn by oblivion and distaste.
My intellectual property in fact has been decocted by the thud of her voice, uninfluenced of her literal aphorism.
Her whimsicality disproves my goal of escape disproportionately, leading to an incontestable emotion.
My useless trickery disintegrates and I succumb un-admittedly.
She is the symphony to any verbal effect, the rhyme to an attempted haiku.
She is the immaterial love that brings me disruption and unprepared musings.
…
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
(homage to Ogden Nash)
See the buzzard soar, the swallow skim a lake, the kestrel hover;
observe the skylark pouring his little heart out in the sky;
admire the flapwing, lapwing flight of a flock of plover;
what birds do is fly.
At least they oughter,
because once birds get onto the water
they can't help looking absurd
– except the swan, for which nobody I know has an unkind word,
or, mostly, seagulls,
who fly with almost the grace of eagulls,
and in their silvery-white uniforms are impeccably neat,
even if my admiration for their manners is incomplete –
but, shucks,
look at ducks.
And for something really silly,
shaggy-winged, fluffy-headed, and disproportionately
neck-and-bill-y,
consider the pelican, for heaven's sake.
Surely Nature made a mistake,
or left the designing of it to a particularly inept committee,
it's so unpretty.
But once in the air he can soar like a buzzard, though maybe lower,
and skim over the waves with more perfect control
than a swallow, and slower,
and dive for a fish like a living javelin, that clumsy pelican.
By helican!
No, for a shapeless, hapless caricature, created to be comical,
the epitome of what a bird shouldn't be, the penguin
must be the most epitomical.
As he does his impression of a Charlie Chaplin waiter,
you know he'll fall off the ice sooner or later.
But before a warning can escape your lips
he trips
(and slips).
Then, as he slides beneath the waves, ah! See the happy penguin fly,
A graceful bird in his greenblue underwater sky.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 9:55 AM UTC
It's impossible to me
How you can't see
Or maybe just wont admit to me
That your attentions
Are divided disproportionately
It is what it is and
I am in no way green to what I signed up for
I am a grown woman
But I beseech you please
Don't lie about it
A pill is still hard to swallow
Even when called another name
Yet the unease and doubt
Just before it hits your stomach and after it leaves your veins
Cannot be chased
When words don't mirror actions
How do you plead your case?
That your actions are reaction to my action?
I guess we shouldn't admit your action creates my disposition
How about we just avoid the whole situation
And throw out the prescription
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
From us it virtually generates,
a vivid dictionary entry form
it mimicks.
Gets to assess/anticipate storm,
bypassing sabotage
with emulation at its core
It clicks with us.
If one were to create
this paravessel
subject to pitfalls so critical,
its snappy truths would mislead
A whole review
that's faster than a line to read.
Does it mean that
i owe you nothing,
i still may dwell
on my valuable ****** experience?
These patterns seem
an oxymoron:
Efficient yet alarming.
If one were to contemplate
so peculiar a world,
Full of next-gen era
outlandish jobs,
Be based on this extrapolation
let it not.
I carry substance,
Although disproportionately,
Which you might overuse,
misjudge, or subjugate.
They meddle with it,
the tech-savvy reptiles.
We may further copypaste
and carry no substance
other than what we had
disproportionately created.
Apr 4, 2023
Apr 4, 2023 at 5:11 AM UTC
I can feel my patience
fading away
frustration with cold
and loud
and hot
and waiting
and hunger
I started tapping my
feet and fingers again
unrest for the weary
doubts and happiness
equally fleeting
disproportionately
resonating
through caverns
vast to hold
worlds
I have not maintained
patience falls ill
patience dies
patience waits for no one
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 9:36 PM UTC
“The human races from which great nations
with a broad & progressive culture emerged
that has influenced all of ancient & modern
history to this day, and of which many very
talented nations & still vibrant & progressing —
[these great races number only two]:
_the Semites_ & the Indo-Europeans _or Aryans_.”
- Joseph Klausner
Klausner had earlier used the term “savage”
in his book “Ha’adam Hakadmon”
(“Prehistoric Man”), on the foundations of anthropology,
published in Warsaw in 1900 by Tushiya Press.
There Klausner referred to Sigismond Zaborovsky’s work
“The Prehistoric Man,” published in French in 1878;
a pair of books on the prehistoric age
written by Moriz Hoernes & published
in German in 1892 and 1897, as well
as on works by race researchers
like Karl Penka, author of “The Aryan Origin” (1886)
& Ludwig Wilser, author of “The Origin of the Germans” (1885)
& “The Prehistoric Origins of the Aryans” (1899).
Decades before the Nazis, Penka
& Wilser laid the groundwork
for the racial doctrines glorifying
the purity and supremacy of the Aryan race;
Klausner’s book was a collection of excerpts
from these works, translated into Hebrew;
a Jewish diaspora
who coalesced during the Holy Roman
Empire around the end of the first millennium;
Ashkenazi Jewish intelligence, often referred
to as the "Jewish Genius" is a subject that
explores why Ashkenazi Jews tend to have
[Marx, Freud, Einstein & Hollywood formulating a Judeo-centered worldview
posing as atheism: Neitzche's
pronouning the Death of YHWH, buried
beside his son; both graves empty;
the Jews rejecting Christ: a higher intelligence
than all other ethnic [despite the prevalent
myth, evidence indicates actual
Ashkanazi are more or less borderline ********
the "Ashkanazi Genius" surviving
solely in the poetry of Bob Dylan;
groups and excel disproportionately in many
[Jung also rejected this covert Zionism]
fields, and has been an occasional subject
of scientific controversy;
The average IQ score of Ashkenazi
Jews has been calculated to be from
a range of 110–115, significantly higher
than any other ethnic group in the world;
Today's Ashkenazi Jews suffer from
a number of congenital diseases and
mutations at higher rates than most
other ethnic groups
Ashkenazi Jews, also known as
Ashkenazic Jews or simply Ashkenazim
(Hebrew: אַשְׁכְּנַזִּים, Ashkenazi Hebrew
pronunciation: [ˌaʃkəˈnazim], singular:
[ˌaʃkəˈnazi], Modern Hebrew: [aʃkenaˈzim,
aʃkenaˈzi]; also יְהוּדֵי אַשְׁכְּנַז Y'hudey Ashkenaz):
Ashkenazi students in West Bank school
protest against end of Sephardi-Ashkenazi
segregation; Ministry threatens to prosecute parents.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 11:32 AM UTC
Wishing you were anywhere
But here
Can be
A decent state to be in
If you can still appreciate
The kindnesses you're gifted
Without so much to part with
Or to donate foreign strangers
Who have been on the receiving end
Of their fair share of dangers
When displaced in distant
Destinations
Illuminations
Of the darkest spaces
All too often getting lost
In what I thought
Might find myself again
In Paradise’s cost
Another fortune
Disproportionately
My prerogative
Compared to millions out there like me
Who may have much more to give
Than take away
From every goodness sake
And goodest grace
The human race
Seems willing to embrace me with
Despite the dearth they make
A common trait among the masses
I am still content
To exploitate
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 6:31 PM UTC
Subconscious typing. Stream of Consciousness. Type streaming from source, rhythm or no, just keep typing. Fast fast fast. You can edit later.
Say what you mean, honesty really is the best policy
Make things disproportionately huge & cosmic or tiny microscopic personal. Be the soul telescope.
Relate to memory, good times/bad times, unrelated action
Relate to the body/senses
Evoke ancient names and memories of forgotten gods
Appeal to primal self/instinct/latent human reaction to symbol & stimulus
"News from the edge" -- Report from the edge of the universe, tell the folks at home what's going on at the source
Praise things often, condemn things when they deserve it
WRITE
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
Is it better to get more money? Let’s say that it is.
It is better to get more money.
Is it better – for the poor – if everyone gets more money, even if that increases inequality?
Well.
The right – who think they are Right – say:
Yes. Disproportionately rewarding the wealthy with wealth creates wealth and quality of life, which the poor can now afford.
The left – who think they are Right – say:
No. Disproportionately rewarding the wealthy with wealth creates wealth and quality of life, which only the wealthy can afford.
So who is Right?
Well.
Let’s answer that question with two more questions:
What does “quality of life” mean?
Is it better to get more money?
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 6:40 AM UTC
pandering to the lowest common
the red headed ******* brays into the void
faceless masses screech back from the darkness
begging to be fed again, shown light
offered dignity…but this day has not come
instead
the beast feasts on those least able to protect themselves
the laughter follows… --
pretentious preacher gargles wine
claiming the blood of Christ flows within him too
favored and chosen by god, we must obey whatever tomfoolery
this sociopath lays at our ingrown toenails
dried skin flakes away in the warm breeze
as displeased fleas flee the scene
no longer able to **** the impoverished blood
their hunger turns
refocusing
looking to those in power
and them which control wealth gap policy –
reptilian overloads bathe in the blood of Amber alert victims
drinking deep discontent and discord
while spreading disease through dog spit
…… my how the Americans love to give their puppies kisses on the mouth
The greatest nation pays tribute to the false image of evil incarnate
Some give this face to Obama,
others see it in the smile of Donald Trump, me,
I see it in the eyes of the apathetic child
too worried about the new call of duty game
to care if a flag means slavery
or black people are disproportionately shot by cops
to quantify, at my age, anyone under 25 is a child
sorry, youngin… --
witnessing women liberate themselves so extremely
as to have ***** grown in laboratories
I hope unicorn women are in our future,
with big floppy black *****
surgically attached to their foreheads
this idea will certainly get them through that glass ceiling
as no one will stand in the way
for fear of being thrusted upon
by the new secretary …….
……….
Did I have a point? –
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC
Imagine, for a moment, that which you have only seen
In reflections, distortion, words disproportionately
Silting, spilt into the slits of your eyes
Reflections, collections, of hazarded half-truths
They capture your form, but they can’t capture you
Perhaps, that is why
You don’t understand.
Perhaps…it is because
You have never seen your soul.
I have.
You are shattered in sharp little pieces,
Stained with blood from the hands which try to claim them.
It’s ****** and grand, do you now understand?
It is enough
for you to be.
It is mindless isn’t it?
Sickening.
That someone could love you for just being.
That this soma, this shell, this imperfect display
Can so effortlessly express an unquantifiable goodness.
You didn't choose to exist
to be
to be loved
Does it hurt to be loved?
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 3:11 PM UTC
It's okay
a customary reaction
A familiar routine
to a question always asking
On a face always masking
Day by day the days are the same
with us all insane
the word holds no value
and means nothing compared to what it seems
To what it is are supposed to mean
it has lost all value
and lost all fight
the convictions once held
Isn't bounding the truth
It is covering up a call for help
the system has failed
what are they suppose to say
help
Not in a society that reacts disproportionately
where things are taken to new heights
when the fear of falling
leads them to fail
They can't go that route
for the predators are out to hunt
show no signs
And don't show what's inside
and perhaps they will believe that side
that perhaps you are one of them
so as of now
You say you are okay
Aug 27, 2020
Aug 27, 2020 at 2:49 PM UTC
I am so disconnected, but equally as in touch.
I believe in everything within me, but still do not believe in much.
I understand if you wonder how that could be.
Maybe you will never know, detached from my frequency.
I used to see it as an emergency when I would bleed these things
and no one would hear me.
My heart would panic like a manic depressant;
I was a maniac that didn't know how to stop second guessing all of these lessons.
I suppose it was my pride that halted me from living life alive,
instead of merely existing.
Things that kept on insisting, I kept on resisting.
I used to wonder why I was exhausted and still only desired to sleep...
Until I realized that my dreams were the only place I felt I could be free.
I was a dead tree living in the middle of a forest of blooming leaves...
And then the day came where I gained inspiration through the branches of the the trees
that were reaching out for me.
My dreams began to sleep on me;
So now, when I bleed, I want to give you something to read.
Then, maybe, you can see me times 3, as I reflect off a deflection of what you see me to be.
I mirror myself as the third person through these words.
I am even and odd; disproportionately birthed.
I roam with the heards,
but I fly with a flock of unheard birds.
This is my world...
- L.G
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 5:20 AM UTC
Two men were talking to God you might even say they were praying both askeded for the same gift; vulgarly known as filth lucre-money. Gods told them that they each could have their prayer answered but they would have to decide whether they would put their faith in luck or merit. The First said I am a democratic man I hardly can bear to to think I am better than any other so my choice is luck. The second said well it hardly seems right that an undeserving man should be disproportionately rewarded,no that is not at all just. I will put my faith in merit. The gift was given to each and each retained his own conceits but when the wind from God blew and nothing remained of either of their fortunes All is Vanity- Nevertheless for Love' sake I shall fear the Lord who gives me peace.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
I’m a chiliagon, a rubik’s cube -
Not to be unriddled or unwound
I’m a disproportionately curvatured polygon; too spiritual to be mathematized
I am art, not the artist, and I have transcended my pain and fear because I walked with them in darkness, in depth, to understand not to conquer them
I am a mirror of mosaics and I have reorganized my pieces so many times trying to make sense of how they see me and I’ve learned that they only see themselves
Because we are all teachers and students and
There is so much to learn
About ourselves
Through each other
So open your eyes
And walk with me
Through this great life of self-reflection
So that we may understand
And transcend
These bodies that ground us
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
-Relax
-Calm,be calm young one
I heard the strangers voice, and having no frame of reference with which to originate myself within my surroundings, I readily took heed to these soothing words. Only to soon find my senses entirely overwhelmed as my mind and my body caught up to each other at the same moment. Feeling the most unusually bizarre sensation of having been just previously located fully within my mind. Panic set in as I found myself naked on some distant planet who's surface was composed disproportionately of foose; extremely fine grained sand. The only feature that stood out in any way was the stump of an obviously dead tree. The stranger ,who I realised was actually seated crossed legged and floating some 6 - 8 feet above the barren surface of the desolate moonscape. He continued to re-insure me of my safety and I was in no danger. I had started to hyperventilate and grew ever so close to losing my vision .When the stranger reminded me that breathing was not necessary in the journey we were sharing and was he was going stay with me to ensure my trust guarantee, my return to my body I had known prior to this remarkable experience.
Jun 21, 2019
Jun 21, 2019 at 6:56 AM UTC
The bold cupola at his summit reflects
neon lights from bulbs above, crowned
by precious thin silver hair, barely cascading
over a wide and wrinkled forehead.
Two dense detached bushy arches linger
to their original dark brown tone, only a few
white brow hairs are longer, magnified by opaque
thick lenses of plastic orange glasses,
resting on a disproportionately big red nose,
outshining round green eyes in venous sclera.
Falling cheeks of sad old dogs, Dumbo ears
hearing only through pale hi-tech gadgets.
Rotten teeth, some lost to empty spaces,
concealed by infolded arid purple lips,
in the midst of an unshaved beard tobacco
stains, where arch crumbs hide in disguise.
A bloated stomach denotes long lasting
faithfulness to a wife married ages before,
a ring castrating a swollen left annular
as he speaks on an archaic phone.
Dressed in an azure shirt meticulously
ironed, beige corduroy trousers, a maroon
jacket on his forearm, a worn out bowler hat
on the counter. I stare at his hunchback.
He stirs his coffee for much longer
than necessary in search of eye contact,
someone physical to talk to, furtively
swallowing a tablet or two gulping water.
Bringing his handkerchief to the mouth to be
proper, he drinks the boiling hot Italian brew,
with an air of surrender as drops inevitably fall
on his nice and shiny polished burgundy shoes.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 5:14 AM UTC
One day i had a detailed look
at a 24 inch machine scale and
pondered some new ways to
relate to the sizes of things
some "inch" scales are in gradients of
decimals and i see them divided into
tens, those tens in turn divided to
even smaller tens, thus~
1.00 = 1 inch
0.10 = 1/10 th inch
0.01 = 1/100th inch
1/100th of an inch is very small but i see
certain things that my mind can measure,
like the size of the Earth— a little less than
eight thousand miles in diameter.
i can see a mile, but not thousands,
so my magic scale says:
1" = 1,000 mi, thus
Earth = about 8"
i imagine holding Earth in my hand
like a small beach ball, then i figure
that the moon is about 2 1/4" big.
how far away is it, i wonder ?
let me grab a tape measure :)
given what i have on hand, now there
is a basketball and a tennis ball lying
some 20 feet apart from each other
in the back yard
i look upon all this and fathom it in—
but this vision now zooms upon my "Earth" ball
with the scale situated conveniently next to it.
detailing the texture of its surface, my eyes
become disproportionately larger than my brain—
observing the Space Station
cruising about 0.15 above it,
the clouds hovering at 0.01,
and further still through the winds of upper distances,
descending between the smallest of lines to my
mere figment of a presence at
1/100th the size
of this tiny
period
dot
.
— leaving me to wonder how
i could possibly have even
glimpsed all of this—
from way down
Here...
"Scale"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved
Aug 8, 2020
Aug 8, 2020 at 9:19 AM UTC