On The Occasion Of Your Anniversary

Peppermint on my tongue
to wash away the taste of bourbon
and cheap hotel rooms.
In that place
where sand touches water,
the liminal space of borders,
where one thing becomes another,
I constantly find myself
wanting to correct my course,
to adjust my time table,
so maybe even if
I don’t end up where I wanted to be,
I’ll end up someplace at all.
Infinity is beyond my grasp,
as is a horizon,
as is the moment zero ceases being zero,
and becomes more
or less than.
It is a point,
a pure point,
a line of points
dancing on across a plane.
I heard your voice again
the other day;
it’s a wonder it didn’t kill me.
When will I ever learn?

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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