after the water is drained out

through the strainer the noodles

are a nest of the whitest flightless bird—

dry ice sublimating like smoke

on the water, paper boats unfolding

into mere sheets and dissolving

into messages in atomic bottles.

if it wasn't for quantum spin

you'd fall through your chair.

someone is always spinning out there

to keep you steady— call them

father, mother, call them sister, brother.

call them friend, call them love.

if everything stopped spinning you'd stop

feeling dizzy living in this world

but you'd also fall through yourself and lie

like a puddle of pants at entropy's horny feet.

~ ajay

14/2/2022