Polar Other

Beyond the spectral depths

of Pele’s throat

lies a sensory deprived world

where summer winters

and days dim long into the night,

where winds sculpt ice into waves

and absolute silence screams,

cultivating a lingering insanity–

irrelevance in a place where all

lines of longitude meet and

the earth doesn’t move–a place of

eternal white out where

it is easy to believe that something

lives in the winds,

breathing the fire of cold air.


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