∝: myself, nobody. a vacant pronoun, a flaccid 'you', the vaguest addressee...
there is nothing here to rail against, but such vast forces pinning me to the sea floor. new-slowed molten seeps out my mouth and nostrils, forming islands out of congealed primordial rage. the new rock faces maintain my dumbed look, unblinking.
in the old world, i could scream and fly and spit ash and never need land. in the old world, everything burned illuminated, unconsumed.
in the new world, i lay still enough to maybe grow an olive tree, for a dove to find when i am less inhospitable; when i lay still enough to leak out a mountain to populate, billions of quiet years from now.
