Paxton Grey
fermi paradox
“Where is everybody” redirects here.
here’s the paradox : orion was meant to be a hunter
a neighbor : orion whispers to me : where is everybody
echoes in empty tar : shards of light like shattered
skylight window : a wild attempt to jump out the roof
straight through the atmosphere : when is this enough
orion whispers to me : nothing echoes in empty tar
nothing echoes empty : orion, sound does not travel
in a vacuum : nothing : then : in the ears to the brain
orion whispers to me : how to be alone & not feel
alone : feel ancient echoes of light travel billions of years
here’s the paradox : rays tingle your skin but only you
feel : nothing echoes thoughts like warm skin : bare feet
on cool tar : the same elements repeat : fumbling shards
nothing echoes in empty : orion cannot whisper to me
hunting nothing echoes : where is everybody :: :
how to remember the painful parts
addiction is sweet on my lips,
sour in my stomach: i speak
of stealing pills. of getting dope
sick on the roadside. of the semester i lost to a jail
cell. of the money i spent. all things carefully
extracted from my memorylike impacted wisdom
teeth. as if i could separate the whole from
the unwhole. i abandon the bruises.
thalassophobia
as always. the water dries on my skin
leaving salt like sweat bequeathed
until i'm not sure which residue comes from which
expenditure. does it matter that i am
small? when i hear all kinds of waves crash with
each inhale. exhale. as if she is curled
in my lungs monitoring my heart beating. i
might bleed seafoam. i might listen
to the gentle tug of the moon. no
i am not her. but i carry her with me
even as i fear the dark depths.
even as my legs tire, i am buoyed.
i see the girl i was
she is dead
and haunting me in mirrors. some days
i am the ghost and the graveyard;
the weapon and the murder. i am here
to pass on my condolences i say to dust
as if it were my ashes. i scatter
remnants of myself in the river.
i feel the current run through me. over me as i sink. i
am not drowning
today. i am drinking reflections like whiskey: sip
and grimace all night. drunk, either the ghost fades
or the ghost grows within me. i am here to pass on
my condolences i say.
the ghost echoes it back to me.
the faithful work of drowning
alone with the sea, he lets the water enter
his lungs. love is everything
except bubbles slowly rising. bodies
expended and writhing. he lets the water tower
above him. a column of pressure growing. an
undertow of sorrow. he gnaws at the sea
as if his sweat differed from the salt
water. on the surface, waves collide.
Paxton Grey (he/they) is a transmasculine software developer and poet living in Indiana. His work has been published or is forthcoming in Sundog Lit, Palette Poetry, Hobart After Dark, and elsewhere. His microchapbook 'the war' was released with tiny wren lit (October, 2022), and his collaborative chapbook 'COLUMNS' is forthcoming with swallow::tale press (March, 2023). They can be found on Twitter @PaxWrites.