chanel andrea plett

i'm always watching my own feet especially my strides over the crisp grass across the front lawn to my front door. stopping halfway, i often realize that grass is earthy but skies are heavenly. la terre is known and the outward atmosphere is foreign. i look up into the charcoal sky as soon as i remember my fondness of it. though, the cerulean blue has a nice warmth, seldom do i stare into day lights. paint splatter white lights on a midnight blanket draw me in far stronger than wisps of periwinkle. it is not the mystery of worlds unknown. further behind glints measured only by time, plethoras of fusion reactions are far beyond pleiades. it is not knowledge of an ever expanding universe or craving enlightenment for myself. nor is it to know what i do not yet but, more so, verification and self-affirmation. it is the insignificance of my own in a world so vast that is only increasing in estrangement that churns deep in my stomach. simultaneously, belittlement has less to do with it. contrariwise, it is familiarity to the stars and their organa that grabs ma coeur and will not give. in a moment, counted down to exactly one second, energy birthed the "heavens." sooner may i believe in this than in jesus christ or a holy father. spirituality invested in hydrogen cores seems much more plausible. billions of light years and several parsecs seem closer than death followed by rebirth in a fantasy. a gold gilded world of eternal peace is accepted and published. it is unnecessary. chilled oxygen in darkness should move your corpuscles. tilt, look, blink, gaze, swoon. i have always lacked patience and never have subscribed to blind faith. it is funny, though. the big bang was an idea proposed by priests.