The Holding Pattern
There are no coincidences in this apparent smattering of butterflies. No notion of chance: Utter lies.
So, on cause and effect, pause to reflect on exactly what this means.
(Perhaps) You are not reading this by chance. (Perhaps)
You were always going to read it.
self. fulfilling. prophetic. genetics.
Yes, I have come to understand time
and I have come to understand time
Like the greyhound chases the rabbit incessantly
round and round in the dirt.
Time goes. And so I follow,
In order to understand.
I have waited. I have been in a holding pattern for you.
You, my element of consequence, precious Magnesium.
You see, as part of this empyrean dance
a circumstance has arisen whereby
you and I… wait!
Did you do that to the sky?
It burns with the fire of a self-diagnosed apocalypse!
If it meant I could know time, I would follow you into that sun.
…You know, I do loathe the monogamy of space-time somewhat…
Why can’t we move backwards – no!
s i d e w a y s through time? To where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?! To bodies with better circulation. To a universe where I am a goat and you are a cat but we love each other anyway. To a land made up entirely of hot springs, rain forests and Japanese restaurants. We would heal ourselves there. In it, our programming waiting to be re-written.
Waiting. In a holding pattern. Circling high
Above the Callabonna salt flats.