Heat/death/sonata
Surely some music is endless;
Chord patterns that must resonate on
After earth is swallowed, past the rot of every sun
Surely joy will arpeggio through graveyards of galaxies
Still a murmur in the stillness when every memory and atom
Has bled into light and is fading away
Surely the very void will ring
With bittersweet melodies in ratios of space
And time
And this
Is how I love you;
Not with height or depth but etched
In mathematics,
Endless,
For surely some music is endless;
Proprioception
Noun: how we sense the movement and position of our own body. One of many senses beyond the traditional five.
I wish there was a shorter word for
proprioception –
That inner sense of your own poise,
How your sinews hold your weight,
How bone relates to bone;
I wish it sounded more casual, so we could say
I saw a flower, I smelt it,
I – procept? – unslouching closer:
Not just knowing that I move
But how the gravity of beauty feels
I wish there were a word for it other than feel,
All fingertip and surface
And nothing
Of what your marrow knows.
I wish we had words for lungs
Not based on dissection
But on breath,
On where you find the tightness of despair
On where the universe is leaking into your core
I used to think it strange
that for most of human history
we have had no word for green
Yet here we are, still,
Piecing together balanced on my heels
like I didn’t learn 50 types of unstable
before I could speak,
To learn the difference between walking and falling
Through finding every hurt in between
I wish there were a shorter word for proprioception
So we would remember the hollowness of skin
The space between drag and trans
How you can look spidered and hunched
But know yourself upright
So we could share the shape of our souls.