Maybe nothing isn't so dark
or void
But a bright whiteㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhole
coiled
with nowhere to spring
but inside itself
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ*
Picture tubes sublimating
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤsnow
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤto vapor
We condense inside
gliding strideless
to the body of a plane
She idles the tarmac
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤsurgical
a patient waiting for her operator
breathing
like a raspy accordion
We pan her whale-like figure
to a pipe rung ladder
and scale
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤrung
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤby rung
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤinto her underbelly
Where we're blown out through her nose
slapping her slippery metal skin
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤbelly up
witnessing ourselves paling
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤwhiter
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤand whiter
the sea foam
of our form erased
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤno war or protest
just the evaporation of everything
Even words whiten mid-syllable
naming nothing
with the last puff of froth
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ*
we wake
in a sheet-pinned peninsula
sweaty
still us
as much as we remember
like nothing happened
Cover photo URL.
About the Creator
Pixel Floyd
I write poetry. Inspired by the undefined spaces where words take their chances.
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