Cannot open envelopes,
at a thousand feet below sea level.
The carbon soda-popping,
like fireworks in the blood,
platelets screaming for the surface.

Cannot refill ice cube trays,
or bear the rush of tap water,
under centrifugal force.
The hydrogen’s frantic bonding,
cracking under expectation.

Cannot iron cotton socks,
with the heat at the core of the crust,
syrupy bubbling molasses upwards,
like hot coals at the soles,
steaming on contact with fibers.

Cannot complete common tasks,
or maintain appearance,
when the gravity turns bed sheets into boulders,
separating the bone from the marrow,
and the men from the woe.


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