I never really know where to begin.
The tense of regret for staring at a blank page eventually bothers me enough into action.
I am compelled for one reason or another
I am driven into it.
And so much of it is so obvious
The sound and the sensation
As gravity pulls in from all directions
As if we are but ripples
Superimposed upon the surface
of our own event horizon
how relevant are these instances
where chemicals release into cerebral-spinal fluid
imaginings of potential futures
within the distortions of space and time
as the berth of a ship
as viewed from underwater
what dreams await the futures
that have not yet come to pass
textured as if tissues
the layers of existence remain proportional
as dream of eons
only lasts until we wake
and in some quantum way—
I am collapsing the possibilities
Syllable by syllable
Into the future that has brought
the propensity of this moment.