Heather Scott Petersen

Before the geometry falls out . . . 

the postcards which come together on the general map of absurdity.
it is raining darker and darker at the fictional center.

we make no comparisons of basins with the depths of Baikal
a naval in the asian body.

to validate the rising water. proof that it is natural and frequent
				for the earth to rise. 
there is a rock involved. and a river. 

friction parts the mouth of sunken channels.
never take a ship to Rome. 
the limit of travelling wedged into place. 

out in the air, purple falls from the sky in Poland
onto the creation of surface.

i am used to the undoing. and the reversal of provinces.
the sky is filling up with similarities.

i make stories out of anything while waiting to be seduced
not seduced, in drawing hesitations.
all of the things you know me by, moving in the southern hemisphere

the coast itself keeps moving

it breaks. your laughter breaks it . . . and your beauty. 
years and accent broke it. i say, the degree changes. and then you do.