Fridge cold meat.

What’s in focus is praising the geyser, stoking the fire, making it go. Nothing is good or bad, so come what may. I got nothing to say but I have infinite water to spill from a puddle that’s an ocean or my heady mind and robust syntax. I can’t depend on life to be without maintenance. I can’t depend on life to be free of sudden dips from homeostasis. I can’t depend on life to have one or two consistent, beautiful things keep there for me and last more than some years. One day things just disintegrate. Fall apart. Rhythms unravel at their parts and spin out into nothing. One becomes a different person. New rhythms become. I can’t give up on myself, the person whoever I am right now, because life is not like that as it’s never just people or love; it’s things. Immaterial things. Things matter, things do.


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