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CONTENT WARNING: show warningsThis page contains: Pregnancy
Dendrites stretching through void,
dark axons reaching out from soma to soma.
Each intersection a galaxy,
bright neurons in a network of space.
The music of radiation:
the acetylcholine passing from cell to cell.
The lugubriously expanding universe:
a majestic monstrous fetus gestating.
When the universe awakes and synapses fire,
will we awaken, too?
Or will we continue, atoms of organelles of a neuron,
unaware of the body?
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CONTENT WARNING: show warningsThis page contains: Death/dying
It begins with a shudder,
a small tremblor.
Then a slippage of faith.
Nothing big, you understand.
A disaster in the small.
Ace shivers, slides,
Jack’s knees give out,
A trio of deuces fail to thrive.
The Queen’s sceptre wavers.
The fall begins.
It becomes Biblical in moments,
deck dissolving, devolving
into a puddle of argument.
Who makes the first leap
will never be known.
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CONTENT WARNING: show warningsThis page contains: Blood Body transformation
Their first mistake was letting me choose the task.
These proud suitors
Sons of kings and conquerors
Star-touched and god-born
these heroes dreaming laurels upon their brows,
their bronzed shoulders gleaming with imagined glory.
I chose the track to be my battleground—
a footrace on hard-packed red earth
beneath a blazing sun.
Their second mistake was letting me set the terms.
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CONTENT WARNING: show warningsThis page contains: No content warnings
Flowers don’t lie, he tells me one morning
weaving his words carefully around the kernel.
My question ‘why flowers of all things’
doesn’t make a headway through the shell.
His hands were always mud, birthing buds
from all plants that flowered.
His doctrines germinated from little saplings
in big to medium to small earthen pots.
The blooms took all the gravity of his conclusions.
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CONTENT WARNING: show warningsThis page contains: Blood
That’s not why she woke up with the first cuckoo song,
to catch the mysterious moves of stars arranging the destiny of the day.
She knew hers was trapped in the figures of the Krishna calendar.
She knew of dead ends
and that the tea she’d boiled for him one last time—
it’s been ten months since the wood fire went cold—
still sent up cardamom and cinnamon curls in the humid air.
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CONTENT WARNING: show warningsThis page contains: No content warnings
red rover, red rover,
we’re sending you over.
find in the dust what we long to know.
day by day
drill down and
sift, sort, filter.
day by day collect.
don’t fear.
don’t wonder
if a day unlike this day will come, or
if all days are one day.
little rover,
show us your spirit.
show us your confident
all-wheel drive.
