i sit in my house on the second floor in the living room on the couch with both feet on the floorboards and place my hand on the wall in a patch of sun and feel the water sucked through straws into the belly/the roots of the house, roots that were once pathways of quiet

resistance that now have been rendered into suckage, and are erased slowly leaving behind tales and environmental impact mapping -i try to think "alongside" the water after learning to think "nearby", my thoughts cannot run in parallels but instead in

warps and wefts ~~ the ocean crackled in the veins of the room i sleep in "12.0. Clouds every one of them smell different, so do ocean currents. So do rocky reefs." these are the results of my research on the ocean: we think it is sad, it is our grief, it is our

distance, as Sue Goyette says the ocean is 'the original mood ring' we project our insecurities and expect it to act like us under pressure, it asks us to tone down our self absorption, but we mistake its request to mean save us for yourselves.

and my head in the river

we gave
ourselves a coupon of redemption for each droplet of water