hurricane effect
A lot of people tell me that I am one and that everyone is one, which to me means everyone is everything.
But what if it's more like the opposite of the butterfly effect.
You bump into yourself at every possible moment and it doesn't do anything.
nothing appears to move yet you have moved everything at once, with faith so small that you don't even have it
We search hard for ways to unmultiply. We get tired, close our eyes,
and see division occur in our dreams
two halves crash head-on as alarms go off
There is no perfect number of hellos and goodbyes
between title page and index, it doesn't matter where the hell you sign
Together we wander around aiming every way at once
time unravels us like suns or floods into a criss-crossing happy mess,
a tree branch tapping on a body of water until it calms down and finally sees itself in the mirror,
splashes cold water on its face and the sleep melts away
Sugar, when it's together in a bag, it is sugar. When it's mixed into the eggs and butter and water, is it less sugar,
is it fragmented?
is it cake?
are we cake?
are we cupcakes.
I don't know what we are
they tell her that god
ain't in the leaves at the bottom of her cup
they'll claim he's everywhere on sunday
Too much focus on periods, islands. A sentence is not for that, an ocean isnt either.
They are happy accidents, a last snowstorm in spring that makes you think 'huh, i forgot it could do that.'
And I keep on feeling free to forget,
But what if it's more like the opposite of the butterfly effect.
You bump into yourself at every possible moment and it doesn't do anything.
nothing appears to move yet you have moved everything at once, with faith so small that you don't even have it
We search hard for ways to unmultiply. We get tired, close our eyes,
and see division occur in our dreams
two halves crash head-on as alarms go off
There is no perfect number of hellos and goodbyes
between title page and index, it doesn't matter where the hell you sign
Together we wander around aiming every way at once
time unravels us like suns or floods into a criss-crossing happy mess,
a tree branch tapping on a body of water until it calms down and finally sees itself in the mirror,
splashes cold water on its face and the sleep melts away
Sugar, when it's together in a bag, it is sugar. When it's mixed into the eggs and butter and water, is it less sugar,
is it fragmented?
is it cake?
are we cake?
are we cupcakes.
I don't know what we are
they tell her that god
ain't in the leaves at the bottom of her cup
they'll claim he's everywhere on sunday
Too much focus on periods, islands. A sentence is not for that, an ocean isnt either.
They are happy accidents, a last snowstorm in spring that makes you think 'huh, i forgot it could do that.'
And I keep on feeling free to forget,