by A.Bascove
heliocentric
she keeps saying the world
doesn’t revolve around me
like she don’t know i’m part-solar.
i told her the sun runs
in my family. matter fact
particles taught me
how to smash.
how many times
do i have to break
open my ribs to show
what i’m made of:
half-lust / half-stardust
bonds atomic turn non-platonic
and i’m struggling
to stay positive in this current
climate. change is
the only constant. days like these
i want her close to me,
but i’m afraid she’ll burn
and i’ll be forced to snort
the ashes of her post-apocalyptic
lips to imagine the rush
in the nanoseconds
just before a kiss.
indeed, this is the risk
every time we make eclipse
and i can’t see myself outside
of her.
Russell Nichols is a speculative fiction writer and endangered journalist. Raised in Richmond, California, he got rid of all his stuff in 2011 to live out of a backpack with his wife, vagabonding around the world ever since. Look for him at russellnichols.com.
A. Bascove is a NYC based collagist, painter, & printmaker. Her work is in various collections in the States & abroad including The Museum of the City of New York, The New York Public Library, The Library & National Archives, Canada, Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, The U.S. Department of State, University of Texas, Austin, Washington University in St. Louis, MO, Mount Sinai School of Medicine, University of Texas at Tyler, & Musée de Cherbourg, France. Her political & literary work in the Permanent Collection of the Norman Rockwell Museum. As a writer, she has contributed to Arte Fuse, Stay Thirsty & New York Arts Magazine.