This warm sensation of the quick burning-out star
on wind-blown skin is such a fast-acting superficial
not quite a dream but in the long-winded scope of
forever it is a momentary bliss.
Do you ever feel in this hour
the pull of the planet like a wrapped-tight rope dragging you toward
maybe not a specific destination
but an ideal state
that may or may not be degradation into base parts.
Seems in between sobering blinks
that these feet are so heavily fastened like wrought-iron anchors
straight through the bloody bone
there is only this soft land curvature
those not dissimilar urges that come in lapping tides with the sunfall.
But remember too that in the great spinning of everything
you are a thing only the most incremental amount of something
and yet to the most incremental somethings
swimming across the great mighty oceans of mucus
you are the everything.