BETWEEN TWO GRAVITIES
Posted on June 27, 2026 - by Dan Stern
Most mornings, the sun rises in grayscale, weighted between two gravities. I fasten the mask again— it’s thin, too thin— hoping it veils what flickers beneath. I’m tired of being praised for holding it together— as though silence is sainthood, as though endurance is free. I wonder, if the colors I see are the same as yours. Is my red the burn of a star too near, my blue a trench that swallows light? Are both tethered by forces I can’t unlearn, by concepts I have no words for? You see a calm ocean; I see depths […]
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