the world is an old idea
Are you a star? Glitter up there where in fact it is stone cold icy and dry. Are you a void of strange facts? Squares, rhomboids, triangles inside orbiting dawns: in a heartbeat, upon the drumming cadences, everything will change.
We are entrenched, our bodies shivering yet numbed by ennui. A bright shining armor dulls like a corpse-wrap, and it is destined by the dying light to tie the bones, rattle the veins with this unseen vulgarity.
Am I a galaxy, a black hole, a planet-wide mycelium which grips everything and nothing? Will I stand eventually, with you at my side? Are we monuments? Hope rises and falls, a tide over marshlands, moonscapes, graves.
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