The Core

There is a heaviness to my hands;
            pulled flush with the countertop
                                    or, palms arched over
            a keyboard, fingertips cocked,
            itching for some combustion.

Let me tell you about the man that earth
                        swallowed.
                                    He was mixed
                                                with sediment
            and minerals before his time.

He ingested dirt, blended with the residuals
            of everything that lived
            before. He choked on the fragments
                                    until his face
                                    turned purple

and putrified. After thousands of years
                                    of compression and heat
            his pupils were pressed
                        into obsidian — volcanic mirrors
waiting to witness the evolution of all things.

Megannums went by and nothing was seen.
                        His eyes hugged so tightly
            to the rocks around them that one day
            they compressed into a hot, pulsating
            core, churning for everything else.

My fingers slumber over the keys.

Chris Antzoulis is a published poet and comic book writer with an MFA from Sarah Lawrence College. As a professor of creative writing at Mercy College and a literary agent, he also helps new and established authors find their place in the creative world. From his humble corner in Queens, he hopes only to share with his readers his passion for telling stories. He can be reached at his website (https://www.chrisantzoulis.com), Instagram (@themaninthecave), and Twitter (@CAntzoulis).