the word : firmament

we are lost at sea without anchorage.

the firmament is a figment of a syphillitic fever dream.

the firmament is affixed to a corrugated sheet of tin—full of pinpricks—and backed by massive metal armatures. the sun and moon roll on their gyring tracks, and a giant nighthawk streaks by occasionally with a bundle of fiery sticks in its beak.

this is the vindication of the seamless. seems like a scene a from another time, but no, it’s now, it’s true. it always has been. thee internets says it’s so.

i saw with my own eyes the impossible. the irrepressible. because look what a shining city on a hill we’ve made here.

here, here. huzzah and hurrah. harrumph and holly.

affirm the freakishness of the firmament affixed by a fever dream.

the only constant is impermanence.

What I’m Reading:

It is the star above us makes us see
The distance of the firmament, immensity
Of the green wave that swells beneath the dark.

— Jenny Joseph / “Out of Sight of Land”