Photo by Annie Spratt
Fossils Fuel
Kyle Wright
Here are the heroes of dreams.
Their faces are wavering in the sugar water.
Bodies like lines of light.
Live in the corners and site-edges.
They are the voices not sung yet.
They are the eyes flashing in flesh-heat.
They are pieces of your soma
sporadic wrinkles of time confetti
would-be better selves.
Youth in crisis, adults in stasis
These are the crumbling of our stars.
I am counting down clockstrokes
My glaciers, you’ve withered to nothing.
Ice caps, thin with cancer, soon we watch you fall
Soon your jaundiced form collapses into the sea.
But really I’m more concerned with the cold.
Or my own melting in the warmer currents.
How not to choke on the thick fluid I’m covered in,
I’m running on, the same stuff my bones might become
If I can just bury myself deep enough.
How far to dig before the world will just pass me by?
Kyle Wright
Here are the heroes of dreams.
Their faces are wavering in the sugar water.
Bodies like lines of light.
Live in the corners and site-edges.
They are the voices not sung yet.
They are the eyes flashing in flesh-heat.
They are pieces of your soma
sporadic wrinkles of time confetti
would-be better selves.
Youth in crisis, adults in stasis
These are the crumbling of our stars.
I am counting down clockstrokes
My glaciers, you’ve withered to nothing.
Ice caps, thin with cancer, soon we watch you fall
Soon your jaundiced form collapses into the sea.
But really I’m more concerned with the cold.
Or my own melting in the warmer currents.
How not to choke on the thick fluid I’m covered in,
I’m running on, the same stuff my bones might become
If I can just bury myself deep enough.
How far to dig before the world will just pass me by?