#empty poem

an open heart surgery on a dying star

the gas leaks out as we take her away

the loss of hope is not a pleasant thing

we hear her screams die out

we feel the darkness confine us

space is nothing but a vacuum

choking us over and over again as we wish for relief

can you breathe in this emptiness

what is there to take in?

oxygen is gone

hydrogen is taking a vacation

nitrogen told us his secrets and we don't trust him

who is left alive to keep you stable

as you float further into the abyss?

it is vast

it is empty

it is alive

in and out

do you feel the pulse of the planetary pull?

stating what is wrong will not fix it

you must find a solution

the universe is not kind to those who wait

07 / 10 / 24

prompt: vast

week one: the spaces in-between

A field cannot be empty, only full of fieldness. A factory near the tracks

next to a field can be empty. A home is often empty. Sometimes the train

goes so quickly for so long, it becomes difficult

to think of ever walking again, the delicacy of that motion

to which the entire body commits itself. And sometimes the heart turns

into an engine, surging at the thought of being elsewhere, elated

that, so solid a muscle, it persists, even through Trenton,

or seeing some old church in Pennsylvania, the steeple cardboarded

against the dead-computer sky. I’ve been in a suburb before, though

it’s so long since I was outside of something, but not so far away as to be elsewhere.