Sharing water from a jar we
talk about the day our
air conditioner fell two stories
and killed no one we
wipe salt from our upper lips, remember
Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:
Moreover, the Moon ---
by Mina Loy
Face of the skies
over our wonder.
truant of heaven
draw us under.
Silver, circular corpse
infects us with unendurable ease,
to thermal icicles
Coercive as coma, frail as bloom
innuendoes of your inverse dawn
suffuse the self;
our every corpuscle become an elf.