This is a composed image. To learn more about the way Thierry Cohen (the photographer) made these images to simulate darkened cities. To find out more here. The Black Out
Fractured bits fall together, combining,
disintegrating, I am unaware in the silence.
What could make solid granite burn? Before,
static, now evolving if there were a tick.
My hands clasp dirty air while those around me
shiver peeking past their clouds of breath.
To see more of Ben Canales photography visit his website. Transitioning
The snow, still white, melts under the light.
My home shifts, the unsteady ground collapsing.
The sky, still black, recedes and turns away.
My home diminishes, my life overwhelms.
The sky, my home — the orange glow we asked for.
Courtesy of HomeGroen Photography. Visit their Facebook page and website. I am for sitting
I sit on a pale blue dot, I’ve heard, upside-
down. The caterpillar crawling through the chipped
paint counts each legstep-calm, but the people do
not, I’ve noticed the tapping, the drinking,
the spit flying through the air circular
with the spinning monotony, somehow landing
where an ant can suck up a dew drop of alcohol.
Knuckles pop, they scrape letters under my skin
means something, and I wish I had fingernails
to dig in to the spiraling grass.
Nebula Abell 39. The result of the death of a sun-like star leaving behind a white dwarf star (see center point). Learn more about this image by clicking on it to visit APOD. The Slow Death Creating
Scraps of me flake
off, spiral, directionless.
These fragments that compose me
are driven with unseen force–
will, a necessity to stumble,
I am abandoned to dim–
shrink, and fade to white.
But as my blinks glow slow,
far between, erratic,
I can still blow them away
wisp them together,
hoping for an affinity
they stare back at my passing
This image is by Ben Canales. You can find more of his photography on his facebook at and on his website at www.thestartrail.com
You cannot feel time,
and you cannot feel light.
Particles bouncing, waves
combining, caught in the mouth
to reel on the tongue,
clutch in the throat,
and glow–dark, hidden a moment
past the corner you cannot see
but sticks to palms–sugar water,
light prints pressed to glass, please
trace the lines of my fingers
and this is what I feel–
the sky, your eyes
I feel the light, this time.
These pieces are copyright to me. Please do not reproduce anything posted by me without my express permission. Email me at ameejhennig (at) gmail (dot) com to request permission. Thank you.
You said, “We are both made of star dust, let us shine alone!”
but my bones must be from beyond your observable universe.
Continue reading “My Unborn Babies”