his initial arrival in the arctic bodes well by all accounts
the pilot comments on how smooth the descent was, though leroy and the three other passengers all exchanged glances planning for their impending death by impact and/or bump-based vibration on the way down
a jagged tango with adrenalin and gravity by any outside standard
but the arctic is he sees quickly more resilient in her response to shakes and falls
because they happen more often
slipperier terrain than pennsylvania, that's for sure
most civilians wear crampon spurs that make a jangle-crunch arpeggio when they walk thru h ≥ 3 cm snow
which is all outside walkways this time of year
he feels ostracized without them, these arctic music makers judging his silent pace and measuring his step less because he lacks the fucking jangle-crunch beneath his step
he is welcomed at the in three parts split he sits on a single point levitational but the dimensional rift (unintentional) means his head heart and spleen are dis-sandwiched
like a trunk roots and branches
split three ways still technically make a tree
but a forest of decompiled parts stacked is never to stand for more than a moment
and he knows nothing of causes, has no ken of what might've fomented this instant and eternal disassembly
but the aches that shake his core in deadly unison are unusually cruel
soul quakes can't be meant to be
a body should resonate on only familiar frequencies
as the tremble blurs the edges of his world's into one another
imperfect synaptic curls seek
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