our river city swells and swelters under summer’s strong hand
incessant as a droning interstate hive
humming specks of light travel,
weaving i75 constellations for our viewing pleasure

how many landscapes can you see, he asks,
before they blur together?
how many faces before they appear a monolith,
names before they sound the same?

i instead watch miniature cars buzz in the distance,
decide to decipher their morse code

mostly he talks of big things, of the universe,
of vacuums and time continuum
how it’ll all swallow itself whole
like an ignorant snake eating its own tail

how does one go back to real life after divulging that?
how am i supposed to sip my cocktail?