even back then, i could feel it around you; how it billowed with your every move, restlessly drifting over the tips of my fingers, my nose, my toes - that gray, permeating stench.
only now can i see it, the way it hangs in the air after a sunset drive, collects in your hair, underneath your fingernails, in your lungs, that steady rhythm of in, out, in, out, in - it suspends upon invisible strings leading towards some indeterminable twilight.
one day, it will complete its descent, a landing in slow-motion, a loss time-lapsed silhouetting that figure in fine powder lungs frozen in solemn thought over all the things you couldn't abort, the settling of dust over a life cut short.
Hi @cryptologenic! Love your thread title and this first poem. "that gray, permeating stench." caught me off-guard - what a line! I like how you crafted the voice of the speaker. To me it sounds like someone who feels trapped, maybe by fate, and someone who kind of is very observant, maybe considers themself a little prophetic, in a way, especially towards the end. The descriptions of the dust are also so varied - I enjoyed reading them a lot. Good luck with NaPo!
i miss that idleness i miss lying around i miss staying up on calls with voices i'd never meet for no reason other than to avoid being alone with my own thoughts while the night-sky spun on i miss having nothing to do the next day and the day after and on and on
(while the city was locked up i laid down and laughed in that corner of the universe i call my room, untouchable, untouching, untouched)
i miss podcasts i miss video games i miss listening to podcasts while playing video games i miss when time meant nothing when the weeks were merely roiling stretches of days unblemished by the outside world, acres of it all just for me and me alone
i miss when numbers were faraway thoughtless things (one-one-five-zero 82,760 nine hundred thousand OVER THREE MILLION AND EIGHT HUNDRED THOUSAND CA-) to be thrown out and swatted away
i miss sliding headfirst into internet rabbit holes i miss succumbing to that quicksand pull of endless vapidity i miss when i read only what i wanted to only when i wanted to and never, ever wrote.
i miss when i didn't know what the word 'privileged' meant.
The perspective of "coronavirus kid" really touched on something I haven't heard much commentary on, but the "light" sides of covid despite so much horribleness that was going on. Personally there were moments of quarantine that were incredibly dark for me - like not having a chance to see a single member of my family for 11 months; but on the other side I have never had the opportunity to do so much uninterupted personal introspection and I think some of my writing during quarantine is the best I'll ever write. I think you did a good job on touching on some of those positives that you experienced while still acknowledging the privilege and the dual-ness of that season in your opening and final line. Thank you for sharing.
In your poem "dust" I think you did quite a good job with pacing - and the imagery is interesting and keeps me wanting to read from line to line to line.
Not sure if you're planning on posting more, but 7 days of NaPo left is still plenty of time to catch your goal or post a few more; hope to see some more of your poetry some day soon! Happy writing! <3
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
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