Despite all efforts else I retain my mass.
Despite exhaling under the sun, for all these days.
Spankéd or unspanked, a zillion asses
lose the sun, again. Tho it vex,
it must be said.
A mile up the coast a garbage floats.
The piece bestows unto the water
some of its inks. For a moment,
the sea retains its traces!
I believe — a bottle — floats away.
The Big Star burns the water into snakes
of gas. Heat to matter wages its attacks.
I can forget this if I focus.
I sail a breath into the neigh-bring motes
and find my ease, again.
Thru starve or bloat, Msr. Brise,
I shall remain.
A plane prepares to land or crash,
maneuv’ring thru the gas.
Passengers take their liquids as they pass.
A mile or two below someone’s tink’ring with a
bilge pump. All luck to ‘em!
Words die up here, in the air.
A camera jumps to Mrs. Brise, who feels
a- live to- day.
Return me home. My bosses mother passed
away, while I was gone. If only I were not away!
I catch her in a hug this Saturday.
What happens next?
She gestures to a jar of ash.
Tho I mightnt’ve, I release a gasp.
Snowflakes test their forms outside.
The temp is right.
Crystals carve the tenebrism out.
Tomorrow they will melt.
It couldnt be helped.
I let one tear for Nature drop
and all her ceaseless, reckless loss.