The sparkling, dangerous, never-ending pull,
the definition of down being so dependent,
every molecule effected, changed, changing, [will change?]
Science never was 100% at predicting outcomes.

The molecules of my mind, this ink,
the paper, your eyes, all pulled by
this ballpeen hammer on a shoestring
flung over the edge of a bridge. And
What’s on the other end will have to
hold its own or suffer the consequences.

Maybe it’s not so much a thing
as it is an attitude, a self-
fulfilling prophecy, it is only
made to be true because it was
defined in no other way. -9.82
meters per second per second
and it’s defined, calculated,
slowly stagnating, but something
to grasp. What would happen to
a pessimist that disbelieves
in it enough that he begins
to float through space?
Or a realist that
believed in is so
much that he fell
through the

Cheap fucks.
We’d all probably just laugh and try to figure out how they did it.


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