Postcard 59

I'm feeling lost in the cold of it all. I'm walking stiff and sore like an old meteor -- each facing our own dawn. I know I'm burning up but my rosacea fingers are tingling and numb. I'm feeling lost. Everywhere are subtle coercions. Each thing that pulls on me has its own warmth, but every pull is pain. I doubt my tenacity and I'm feeling lost. My brittle bones seek the flex of whirl; my soft flesh seeks a fire. The dust that makes me rattles against this plane like trapped electrons. I'm feeling lost with my madness tamped and tamped, my seek suppressed. I'm feeling lost but not, in space, directionless, not cold and flying forward in my own whirl, not pulling my own dust. I'm feeling lost between orbits and the pain is surprising.
My name is I have no name
My home is I am a stone in space
My family is I am alone
My pain is holding on of course.
My pain is holding course and my pain is letting go.
My pain is a flex of hot and cold.
It seems there's countless dust in space, not moving really, but drawing near or away. Each with pull and direction. Burning out and free with the borders of space a cold glowing dawn. Swirling together colliding, the fast coming horizon of a new day.
I'm feeling lost, so might you be, but whirl is king or queen and, cold or hot, is you and me.

Postcard 54

To see as a stone, a geolithic indifference. To know that heat will follow cold, that pain will crumble to the comforting pulse of annihilation. To sit and not to respond. Thrust up to grinding glacial peaks, rolled and split, a pit held between the teeth of water and air. To sit like a sage on the seafloor waiting without hope for the tides to recede. To love and lust for only one thing -- the strain of gravity.To only join with and to. To only join with other stones. Indifferent to dayless space, carelessly collecting, brilliantly discarding frosty dust, seeking only parabolic speed of pull. The only thing to hold is weight. The only pull is gravity. The only things are other stones: melted and fluid, vaporous and free, organized -- for moments -- and alive. To vaporize in the friction of pull. To impact and melt. 

To dissolve. 

To dissolve in the pulse between one pull and another. To dissolve in the freedom of weightlessness. To commune with solvent water. To commute in bloody tides and ichor currents. To be as stone harnessed and unharnessed. Harnessed by gravity; unharnessed in liquid suspension. To be as stone, itinerant traveler of days flickering by like film. To be as stone, witness impassive and unimpressed the gradual imminence of erosion. To be what is and only that and then to not, to falter and seam, to split and to tumble, to gather and release, to melt igneous, to seek and stack, to compress and granulate. To swallow chalky skeletons, to seek a mean, to dissolve and always -- above all -- gravity, To crystalize.