I wrote this poem as part of an attempted series on space and physics, but it just occured to me that I’ve been systematically abstracting this stuff into a rut so it’s not even cool anymore. I’ve got to let stuff be stuff! Henceforth, that’s my new deal here.
A harrowed wood in the frostbit dark:
I heard there’d be music, so I brought earplugs.
But I’m listening.
Alone here, it’s clear
the earth might shake anybody
off, like a rain-snarled dog—