intelligent life 
Emily Spacek

I go over old memories of life before. there’s a piano. there’s the teacher and the second law of thermodynamics. I play the piano and all the things trend toward disorder.

you think it was easier before? before what?

destruction is a pattern and i live in a pattern. words inside of me. words like entropy. hydrogen. gravity. time. einstein found out what fuels stars and with it made a bomb.

I feel forests on fire, inside of me, bright like a planet. not earth, because my life is long. limited radiance, low luminosity i can tell will outlive even the sun.

learn, leave, close the fridge door. walking around thinking about earth, the piano, music, and patterns, not words now. earth, blue dye circling the bathtub drain.

I am lazy so I only absorb the knowledge that makes me feel the most sadness. I can’t even fuck before bed anymore, just cross my arms, close my mouth.

I think of the person I’m not fucking before bed, think, we are so special to each other. think, he is staying, and people are thinking he should not. as i think, i feel closer to the cosmos. imagine think- ing and being and connecting with this person more than i’ve connected with any other intelligent life.

Now I am hoping this is leading me to a place beyond. where I can think independently of life before. where I hear echoes. echoes pass. the reflective sound waves urge “lift up your foot, look underneath, there is music here too.”