sunday morning.

picture yourself as kim jung il.
frame a memory in your mind from the days that were just fleeting by, not from the velocity of the car, not from the momentum of the earth, but from the hazed visions of alcohol.
when did we become so far away?
when did we become so mis-used?
every morning that was not sunday morning.

one second chance.

one day one year ago where metal fused with cement for the tiny second of light before imploding into fractures of grains.

five months ago that i should have asked for one second chance, for one last chance.

one month ago that planes were flying through the sky on the way from south of the equator to north of the equator.

one week ago that the earth fell apart in one shattering split second.