Welcome! Here you'll find little textual confections. Please enjoy!
This bush has yellow flowers
No one is here to see —
Little bangs, little tassels,
Little butterballs that
This old plant grows prolifically, even still,
After years of struggle in this
Impoverished soil and dry wind,
Bark gray, leaves pale,
Weathered, lichen-stained, faded,
Pressing on.
Here in a wood where no one goes,
Far from the cosmopolitan gardens
And bustling cared-about places,
In a patch of weeds and wild grasses,
Little bursts of vibrant yellow
No one is here to see.
The wind blew open a door
And I walked through it.
I don‘t know why, exactly,
I walked where the wind invited me to go,
But if this path leads to better ends,
I can only conclude
That the wind and I are friends.
On the day meant to celebrate her,
you opened a black hole in her chest
that extinguished the little guttering candle in her hands
she had managed to protect til then,
and sauntered off —
left her to fix the problem alone.
You felt assured by the waves of pain in your wake that
you are here,
that you are someone.
But, I know her.
Even within the infinite pit, the despairing vacuum,
The place where light—even light—cannot outrun gravity,
She will find a way to reignite…
She will defy the infinities, change the cosmic constants,
Align herself with gravity‘s enemies,
Enter shady deals with dark energy and
Strike bargains with negative particles on the event horizon;
She shall push a crab nebula through a wormhole, if it comes to that.
And then one day the singularity will start to slip.
She will almost pity its dementia
As it releases its grip on time,
As space unbends in its arthritic hands,
And as its hoarded treasure chest of rock and ice
Floats quietly away
(There is no sound in space)
And disappears,
Leaving behind it where the black hole was that kind of nothingness
Exactly equivalent to a forgotten thought.
A tiny new star will flicker to life,
Nothing special in the grand scheme of things,
A guttering candle
That she shall protect with her hand from the wind
And from you.
And she shall wish to share the light and heat of this little sun,
But not to your avail,
For, I assure you,
you are not here.
you are not someone.