our posturing pale

a mote

i.

a mote
devoid
birds fall

doom wrought planet
the snow depressive
celestial melancholy

this imbalance
a
point

ii.

look
that’s home

sinner species
a mote

our posturing
pale
lonely

save us

our place
to exist
in
disaster

What I’m Reading:

“Again the
day begins, only
no one wants its sanity
or its blinding clarity. Daylight is
not what we came all this way for.”

— Philip Levine / “The Second Going”

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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