Monday, May 22, 2023


Even in the abstract, 
there are no 
inert substances.

Seemingly spontaneously, 

beget participles;
words fizz

and collide 
like charged particles 

in the outer reaches 
of space 
so uncharted, 

so ill-defined, 
it's referred to, 

somewhat derisively, 
as memory


Fate too,
takes up no space 

in the imagination—
is noiseless 

and distant 
as underlying trauma. 

Who'd have thought 
 the mere act 
of observation 

could ever contain 
so much drama? 

Who'd have thought 
the self 

could be so cosmic-
ally mundane?