I Am Not Here

Seasonal gig. Doin' math. Algebra. Lotsa algebra.

(I should be done in a coupla weeks.)

In the meantime, here's a poem about space travel.

EVERYTHING IS CLOSER

And the sun revolves around the moon

Incandescent, belching tongues of flame

Into the oily black

At the tip of my outstretched glove

As I twirl in the void, anchored

To a spinning, sparkling starfish,

Miles above the frosty face

Of the sky.