WOKE UP HOT
The light is a curious bright and solar. I feel like my body is changing its font size. The lungs don’t know what to do with water. Entire ecologies where lunchtime astronauts, sitting there with their blankets tucked around their engineering degrees, laugh out loud at the nowhere of outer spaces and all the sea dark. It’s very old fashioned to be distracted by hyperlinks. It’s very old fashioned to goof up and poof like space dust. To support the intricate apparatus of heat, I have several limbs. I protect all the bacteria that live on me. I’m not lonely. It’s just hard to turn into the thing on the last page of the instructions.
MH Rowe's fiction and poems have appeared in The Collapsar, Black Warrior Review, Juked, Spork, DIAGRAM, Timber, Jellyfish, and ILK, among other places. He lives and writes in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
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