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Comet Air

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   In cold space, meaning dark space, where no light shines... In that space, comets are frozen, they show no tail. Despite the speed of their flight through the universe, no friction festoons their passing with icy particles, as they tumble and yaw through the jet black void. Imagine how they feel, so cold, frozen as hard as rock tumbling through emptiness,  not knowing where they come from. We all breathe comet air.
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Chattered, Shuttered

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 "The smell of burnt paper. The silence of the sitting bird. The leaf swaying. Things hold their form, but they lose them too. Re(again)peat, which like moss grows where undisturbed, things hold there, form, but they lose them to... I look out the window and no one appears. I see my reflection in the mirror and wonder why light bothers. Dust fills the air in applause of some wind. Dirt fills the pots, grease fills the pans... a fork in the road, a knife in the wrong hands. We mean to fill the empty spaces, smiling faces and lies that sometimes tell truths we wish not to acknowledge. Like urban pigeons who lay eggs on ledges where the winds can blow them away... Our faces slammed by a chattering book. Things hold their form, but they lose them too. Re(again)peat, which like moss grows where undisturbed, things hold there, form, but they lose them to..."
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