H. Simple. Not to scale. An electron orbiting a proton, a planet orbiting a star, a galaxy swirling about a supermassive black hole. At the heart of each furnace, the same simple structure—an electron orbiting a proton.
He. The male subject pronoun. Little prince presiding over an empty courtroom. Party’s over and the balloons shrivel slowly, the permeation of latex via pores that cannot be seen.
Li. Strength outshone. It fizzles amid its dazzling siblings. The bulbs flicker. You jab the button again, wondering when the batteries died.
Be. To exist. That is enough. No one needs to know your bladed poison.
B. Only second-best—harder than diamond, a well-known universal lie. No one sees, the bonds of this lattice interlocking a cage to free some scattered light. No one sees the diamonds breaking.
C. Middle. We know the stiff four-legged standard, chains of life that burn on ends. But skeletal like Stygian keys—we speak of life like twigs don’t snap, and middle C still moans, in waves across these graphite strings.
N. The cipher unzips the cryptogram, the cryptogram encodes the cipher. Palindromes break. Sewerage pipes flood with A T C G, all the same glyph after all.
O. Nothing, nothing in the end: life fossilizes, but this burning is eternal, exhalation seeping into old futures. Breath comes cyclically, turning diamonds to air—reddening blood, fading telomeres.
F. Failure. She clings jealous like a lover, yellow poison hissing through gaps in the murder vial.
Ne. The octet laments, a queen who will never marry. Electrons buzz. Photons dance orange. Deep in the night, the shophouses glow with misplaced (sur)names.
Chemistry lessons getting to me. This is at least half a year old; it’s still a very characteristic work so I thought I’d post it for completeness’ sake.