Saturday, January 13, 2018

polyplaneted monoglots

I'm a simple girl,
one wandering star suffices me.

Commit to living on this blue-green planet,
and you have strapped yourself on
a train bound for ultimate disaster,
speeding towards destruction at the pace of
five hundred eighty-four million miles per year.

Response to unavoidable impending doom
is twofold:
first: anxiously seek an escape hatch,
reach for the emergency break—
know where your nearest exit is before the film begins
before the airplane takes off into flight
before you fall in love—
keeping in mind
the nearest exit may be behind you,
behind a wall of flaming film,
an asteriod collision,
a broken heart.

Second: find somewhere like a stylite—
and stay.
Find the world open up at my fingertips,
bending to embrace one singular plot of land,
putting roots down,
Benedict-like, in its sweet soil.

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