Space Is Infinite

Hinding in the arms of the shadows. Awake, take a breathless step. Paranoid, you haven’t yet stripped the void. A battleship mourning the first light to grip your lock-jawed brain. If you can’t describe the feeling, tell yourself you’re insane. Blinded is the window next to the alarm clock. Who’s spitting out your teeth, and singing out of key?

I have the equation: in my head and under my tongue.

But now the buildings grow upside down with their wild roots shouting “accept us where the earth wouldn’t”. The people beneath sweat content in the neon sun, planting tomorrow’s television. And where the statues used to stand by the park bench, you can purchase holograms of plants and birds and oh, that’s what the sky used to look like?

I have the equation: in my head and under my tongue (like a cyst in the mind’s eye that won’t pop)