note 1: everything murmurs with the tension of preparation for flight. gravity is not binding, but
a pressure joculating against itself. the punchline: it could let go at any second.
There is something slightly mystic in the taming of all seas. We once imagined sailing off the edge of the map—and then, the story goes, certain circumnavigations proved us wrong.
Tendrils will stroke them with such force /
(all will be made great) /
that you will be biased to disown me, again. /
Won’t you renounce that orange face?