on the weight of salt

out there on the muggy shores of the dead sea,
I felt the ground shake and move beneath me.

out there in black mud and heavy air,
salt dissolved
and itched
and tangled
my hair.

I went there to be moved and out in the desert,
Pangaea herself seemed to tremble with hurt.

With purpose I fled to the ends of the world,
And heedless, Mama earth, her warnings she hurled.

“Flee if you must,” Mama P said,
“but the escape you must know,
is all in your head.”

Fling your net as far as you desire,
but no airplane or dream 
escapes the wrath of her fire. 

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