The Halfway Point Between The Quick and The Dead

The false warm weather in a sub-tropical climate, falsified, cracked life expectancy, attempting to figure out the carbon cycle and how my footprint balances what was once natural. The panoply of the human world, the impossible complexity of the natural world.

I add them together and get more than the sum of the parts.

With nothing planned the days collapse like dead trees.

I weave the limbs into a raft. It sinks in the river. The river stops flowing, flows backwards, dries up completely. I’m unable to distinguish what was riverbed from the erased landscapes.

Lingering sets in. The solution is to divest. Garbage can, recycling bin, compost pile. There are no ashes today. Lethargy pins me to the afternoon.

I’m sleeping, dreaming—awake, daydreaming.
Empty stomach, empty mind.

I’m lying again.

I can’t keep doing this. I keep doing this.

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”—Hamlet

[RK, 3/7/21]