Poetry. "After john puts us through the paces with experiments and games, throws us talismans of rose quartz and 'tired-sick teeth,' we return to the beginning—or, more appropriately, a beginning, with the final poem, 'how to start.' Again, as with the cosmos, we begin 'in the dark.' We begin with a meditation, a poem to speak aloud to ourselves. We start with our eyes closed, and then we open them, and then we read."—Carolyn DeCarlo
some planet is a tiny cosmos in fevered conversation with itself.
some planet is what it's like to recover from your own self.
some planet is what it's like to be a human. existing in one's mind, in one's body, in one's world, in one's galaxy, all tiny universes inside tiny universes all locked in fevered conversation.
some planet is the coin in your pocket when you don't know how to choose.
some planet is when everything is both itself and simultaneously else.
some planet is a house covered in overgrowth on the outside, plastered with memory and story on the inside.
john mortara is leading you through the woods by the hand. trying to get you home safe before sun goes down.