The world seems so small when I can travel an 1/8th of it in a day, horizontally, west, on concrete between north and south, over mountains, over dirt red, brown, then red again, with trees that imitate broccoli that imitate asparagus that imitate something small
a part of something big
After a while, I think I too am like the trees, that imitate life, that imitate a link in a chain of connections, that imitate something small
a part of something big And I close the distance between myself and the world on my 5th tank of gas that I let hit ‘E’ on the shoulder of I-30 in Arkansas and view the texture time has left on my soul; the unnecessary imitation to be together, because we are always together
Tyler Pufpaff is the Author of A Quarter Life and Editor in Chief at Variant Literature. His previous publications have appeared or are forthcoming in Torrid Literature Journal, Havik, Coraddi, and Poetry Diversified 2019: An Anthology of Human Experience.