becoming
becoming
rushes into white. no reason for shaming scientists of maybe, teachers of yet. the student sidesteps under the weight of wonder. unknown. becoming. hands traffic in familiar, recoil at the mouth of stranger or Bocca della Veritá. bless the woman who is standing just so her long cast shadow encounters the glare before me. i’m in love with the natural world. i’m afraid of the natural world. edgar allen poe created the black hole, what might spill out with this ink? I just set out to say that I belong to the mother of emerald green: oz or a hemlock,
becoming
Decided to give a new format a spin this week. I was listening to a conversation with one of my favorite poets Hanif Abdurraqib who said he always writes first in prose block and then chops it up whenever he feels the need to. I didn’t feel the need to.
I’m currently reading a collection of essays called An Elemental Thing that had a fascinating essay on vortexes and off-handedly mentioned that Edgar Allen Poe had one of the first, most visually accurate, ideas for a black hole. Life imitates art.
The Western Hemlock is the state tree of Washington, Oz is the state something of Kansas, I’m sure.
In a different light, “becoming” is the art of confronting the unknown.