the problem with sunsets is they are infinitesimal and consecutive. and our bodies live in cars forever speeding to catch them. how ridiculous, to fear there will not be another one tomorrow. the problem is fish-hook mouth and mesozoic extinction. french bread pasta bowls and classroom holiday parties. we are running and running. to where? a bedroom where summer nights come alive with our floral bodies, i suppose. imagine those bodies lying in a bed made of overdue library books. we are sticking our hot fingers in glasses of coke and poking at the ice cubes. because ‘twas us who demanded the melt. but who cooks the cookbooks after the recipes are all used? who sends a telegram to the seasons so they know when to change? i have never met a sky that didn’t talk back when i asked about rain. never had a phone call with a painting that loved the museum it slept in. imagine the last time you stopped talking and appreciated the way your footsteps echo. have you ever taken a picture of erosion and figured it used to be something? maybe once a glacier, you caption on instagram. sorry to announce i am terrified i will fall in love with the next pair of pants cut into shorts i see. afraid the next tik tok dance will be to the beat of morse code. because ever since nasa mentioned the alternate universe evolving in reverse, we have been living in reverse. what is a poem but an ending and one good line quoted on someone’s twitter. i am afraid of being consecutive. i post quotes from poems before i even read them. eons ago mermaids lived with the dinosaurs. and then the executive continental drift committee heard the disturbance on earth. so they decided to go investigate. and when the dinosaurs stopped barking, it finally rained.
