just now just write justwrite

Just write for a while, let ribbons of fire and steam pour from my eyes and spell the things I've seen, heard, built. There are splinters of ice in my fingertips that have been there so long they learned to read by the candlelight that spills from my mouth. At the beginning of time, there was no time, no human inventions of sand falling against glass, touching what it could be if it could only move fast enough, slow enough even, as the oyster shells run so long they crumble apart beneath the waves. I was dust once, lifting the sky with my infinite grains, laughing because your eyes can't travel everywhere at once, sobbing because it takes so many years to find gravity. The thin fingers of vines part the Earth, wrap their bony limbs around my sky and tell it there are only flat leaves in the trees, a circular orbit that breaks free at one end and sends the planets into freefall, glass beads from a string that's finally given up. Its sigh shook the walls of my bedroom, tied my ears in knots and caused the ice in my skin to almost lose its freeze, to halfway thaw and send tear-shaped puddles of motion to my floor, cause tides of emotion that are only tidal because the moon is always paying attention, paying lines of pearls to the men with their carts who pull lipstick from the veins of the sun to sell to other men, the faraway men who glance through me with glazed-over palms, the lines worn away by sand. I can tell the ice has taken over, and I wait for it to happen to me.