innerspace anno_salutis he runs his hand repeatedly down his face as if he is petting something dumb and hungry like someone else's cat. sitting on a stoop and trying to pick out constellations he had known by star and story when he was young. the city's traffic is listless it will not soothe him. so he sighs out loud, pets his own face. he wonders aloud as to what it is that makes us feel small in the face of the sky rather than normal sized regular, well suited for the purpose, and the task. a neighbor walks his dog past like an animatronic train conductor and gives polite nod. is it guilt? is the absurdity in the complexity of the thing? a brain like a domino trick when a swift kick would have opened the door equally well. his phone buzzes insistently like an anchor pulling him back from the stars from the snow blindness from the mixed metaphors. he thinks about a time when his wants were untroubled. several instances, reach him they are pinpoints of light though, that have traveled a great distance only recognizable now as constellations that define space. 150112 what's it to you? who go blather from