@46and2arejustaheadofme - Tumblr Blog

The Methane Landscape: A Sestina

Even though I am broken, I wander - I follow the methane path toward the light of space and time.

This time, it is you who is broken - following this light and wandering the methane valleys. You ask to follow

me, to follow me toward space and time. The valleys and peaks of methane splay out upon this broken landscape. Together, we wander toward the light.

We know not why it calls to us, this light, but guided are we both, following the shine, wandering outside of space and time. Together—just as broken as the jagged peaks of methane,

just as directionless as the methane trails, the light struggling to shine onto our broken bodies, as we follow one another toward space and time. Together, we stop wandering,

for it is the aimless wandering through this methane landscape outside of space and time that stops us from reaching the light. Together, we find a path to follow - desperate to fix what was broken.

We do not wander, but march toward the light across methane hills, on the path we follow, moving outside of space and time, to fix what was broken.

~Anastasia Lynn; 2023

#mywork #poetry #wandering #space and time #sestina #poems and poetry

A Morning Moment

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, standing barefoot in front of the stove. "A watched pot always boils eventually," she muttered, gazing unsteadily at the kettle. A wave of what resembled nausea hit her; her hands instinctively and independently responded - one to her abdomen, the other to the countertop to steady herself.

For the uncountable time, she silently wondered why her body constantly battled her on the objective of existing. One of those moments teased into being - one of those existential, life-altering moments of lucidity where all is clear and the dark has no place - and tendrils of this moment began to synchronise with her as her hand increased the pressure on her abdomen. What about her, what about her life and her thoughts and her actions, stopped her from synchronising with this body, this life, this four-dimensional existence? Her body, her vessel one could argue, was not in synch with her mind for what reason? What about her mind was incompatible with this body? (She'd always assumed it had been the body that was incompatible with her mind, but perhaps...) What work must she do on her mind to -

The kettle screamed to life, jolting her body upright and slicing the link between herself and that moment. Tea, she thought to herself. I was making tea.

#writing #thoughts #tea #existential #prose #mywork

wordsbydominic

black sunrise to white sand ashes in the fire but lightning strikes rarely in our time he rides with violins in the background he cries with strobes death without hope i’m rhyming, i’m lying i’m fucking dying and now we’re screaming hateful things throwing wine and sheets of words we wrote in anger slamming walls with red painting passion where it went wrong we said we’d never see the day but it’s tuesday

tuesday words by dominic riccitello (via wordsbydominic)

The pain, so unexpected and undeserved, had for some reason cleared away the cobwebs. I realised I didn't hate the cabinet door - I hated my life. My house. My family. My back yard. Nothing would every change. Nothing new could ever be expected. It had to end. And it did.Now in the dark world where I dwell, ugly things, and surprising things, and sometimes little wondrous things, spill out in me constantly, and I can count on nothing.