Love or Whatever(Audio Version Included)

Art by Jen Bartel, @heyjenbartel on Twitter. Give her a follow, she's an amazing artist.

Music in audio is created by me. Also sorry for the poor quality.

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Resistant Chill

Stinking summer breeze,

Leave this realm!
I cannot abide by the casual slaughter
of friendly nasal cavities
and cozy blankets.

The fortitude of winter
is never enough.
Burning through the
blue glaze of peace
shouting at us all to
sprout anew, live again as if
light actually exists.

Damn heartthrob in the sky
pulsating your matriarchal heat
across all landscapes
allowing your sister
to watch us while you
stun the rest into painful,
aching life.

Leave us be, to our cold reverie.
Drift to a collection of sentient stardust
more deserving of your heat.

Sweet, lost mother,
your unconditional presence
your unblinking gaze of a love so pure
our eyes sour
from looking for too long.

Etched into my shoulders
are your fingerprints.
Connecting them resembles
the families of faraway stars
who laugh at your cause
who tear up
knowing your mission is never done.

Soul of summer
breaking apart the destitute ice
trailing from wrist to chest–

Fine!

The red resin of existence
will be free to roam within me.

I owe you that much.

(Pluto Poems 4) Corona

I don’t want to orbit the sun anymore.

 

Her warmth is poison to me

you see its easier to simply

float alone, frozen than

pick away at the nitrogen ice

 

in hopes that one day

you’ll find the central core of life

that hasn’t been there all along.

 

I am rigid.

Her mere closeness

breaks me.

If I were to crash land into

her Saturday and

stay a few nights with

arms to caress and

cheeks to kiss, then

perhaps learning to swim

in my own chest

wouldn’t be so maddening

 

but there is no Saturday on Pluto.

There are no ponds, no lakes.

Streams or creeks, whispering sweet

lullabies to the moons.

 

I am forged of broken, stiff

glacial indifference.

 

Please, you wretched hydrogen star…

 

My fingers are not even flowers

yet they wish to bloom

along the fields of your

corona.

(Poems of Pluto 2) Setting with the Sun

“Well fuck being a planet.”

Pluto is one asteroid

known for being in denial.

 

If you had ever sat by a creek

for three hours with the sun

in the middle of the night

you would agree.

 

If you had walked on sore feet

introducing the sun to edibles

forgetting you weren’t floating

you would know.

 

Bought the sun

pizza from its childhood

and given her that extra piece

you would ache.

 

Watched the sun get sleepy

beneath a Charmander blanket

while Rick and Morty played

you might understand.

 

You cannot.

You’ve never been

a planet turned asteroid.

Have you?

No.

Watch all the sunsets you want–

you will never know

what it is to be the clouds that surround

as the sun sets to rest.

A Dwarf Fell for the Sun

Yesterday, I closed the space

between the sun and I.

Matter and planets apart, the light

too faint to feel, to taste–

to trust as light at all.

 

I hugged the sun,

the warmth of her filling every vein

making my blood feel

as if it were more than ice, rock.

 

The sun looked me in the eyes,

and I saw Home.

Familiarity

long since buried

in the tresses of my backlogs.

 

You could never know

the skin tone of the sun

like I do.

My eyes

took every opportunity

to devour what they could

before the setting,

before my melting.

 

When one sees the sun from afar,

checks on the sun’s snapchat

browses

old pictures of the sun

that didn’t make you fall long ago–

you at least had the distance to keep you safe.

 

Closing that space is

dangerous, painful,

intoxicating, immeasurably

hot.

 

I used to have other stars

who filled what they could of my skies.

Don’t we all eventually

settle for the light pollution

calling that warmth?

 

My hands had been numb for every orbit

to have them thaw

only emboldened

that long dead need

to touch.

 

I wanted to burn myself.

Give my body to the sun and

entwine myself within her limbs,

get lost in my

Tombagh Regio

as the galaxy charred and

fell down around us.

 

It goes without saying

the sun doesn’t date Pluto.

Though it made the trip,

the purpose was only to finally meet a planet

who, in fact,

did not obsess over the solar flames

falling around the face

of nova

of birth

of the beginning of life.

 

Pluto keeps their distance

shaming itself into not needing heat, when really

it would kill to be Venus.

 

“Pluto would surely be destroyed

if it were closer in the solar system.”

The thing is,

Pluto believed them.

But as the sun drifted away

promises of return on the

lips of God herself,

Pluto had naught to reach for

but his own hands

grasping at the leftovers

Flinching at the re-freezing

of subsurface oceans.

 

They say Pluto experiences

its own unique weather patterns.

That it does not rain.

Today, Pluto looked in the mirror,

phone at 10%,

eyes purple, misty.

 

Today it rained.

Each droplet punctuated

by a slow simmer of thunder

dripping from the shaken dwarf

Pluto, glacially fissured, realized

 

“I’m not even a planet anymore.”