Newton’s Law

I think I, above all the waters and waves in the ocean,

the boys in the streets at night that hold themselves,

and my frustration and devouring with the sky, above all

I want to be a part of this. I want to confront the strifes

I am so entirely consumed by, to adore the fabrications of 

a world I haven’t yet grown accustomed to, a world I only

think belongs to my desires. That is the issue with parallels.

The sun shines with a fervent no one has ever dared to

replicate. And I want to be a part of this.

I started seeing tulips everywhere, and orange 1970

Volkswagen beetles. And the boys on the streets smile at me

with a sort of knowing. I think I’ve been here before. They

know this too. I am so encompassed with a longing to understand,

so much so that I’ve stopped keeping score of my disasters.

There is a low droning hum that buzzes at the back of my

neck that reminds me to look up sometimes. To not get too

drowned out by the subtleties I tend to fixate on. But to

remember that the James Webb telescope has just sent to us

the deepest and clearest pixels of space human eyes have ever witnessed.

I’ve been thinking about Newton’s Law, how nothing

ever happens until it happens. I’ve been eating figs and peaches

hoping they may give me a glimpse into knowledge, something

I might understand, to make the world make more sense. Or

to help me make sense of the world. As if fruit may hold peace

for an eternity. As if I may be the one to change things. As if

I am the force acting upon my own life.

My ancestors knew there was a sense of wonder

in the sky,  a God that brought rain and sunlight and

crops to live and grow by. They knew enough to know that

persistence meant importance. And sacrifice, despite compromise,

meant wish fulfillment. To be alive can only mean I must

sacrifice.

I wander into the shape of things. The hues of viridescent

futures reflect off of lamp posts and silver screens. The problem

with parallels is that you can only see their progression from a single perspective. 

An object at rest stays at rest until acted upon by an external force. I must change my life.