Phew! I bought my tickets and luggage, so now moving to a foreign country is cemented! Somehow, that flurry of spending made everything more real...mercantilism at work! Maybe it has to do with loss: the loss of income acting as a sacrifice of sorts, and thus making the ritual of moving "true."
On to poetry:
Here are a couple of recent poems I'm working on from a series called "Struck Landscape."
Corners collapse and everyone has the feeling of collapsing
like both buildings in large cities and suns describing advantages
of gravity and geometry. A mantis can fold in such a way as
to disguise itself from other small things because it is complexity
that breeds fragility—viruses are durable and strong
the most brave fragile thing is god because we can
only eat and fuck and sleep in a miraculous world.
A cup scattered in the kitchen exploring
the breadth of the floor and simultaneously enacting
a redefinition of self somehow finally knowing the popular theory
that time does not even exist and without it the universe makes
sense again. I think immediately of only loss, sit unexpectedly
down to cry and notice how the lowest tip of my spine bends
easily in accordance like a bee stinging its own back.