future angels

crash about

the furniture

it’s taken me a lifetime

 

to acquire

while wrapped

in omelette

 

I’m mute

a claustrophobe

in an en suite

 

vomiting

into this mare’s dream

demonstrable as lightning

 

flash auditions

a whistling warrior

a monk bellowing

 

and epigenetic

whispers

perhaps I’ll open

 

the storage pod

in which a submersible

hums

 

am I being smart

about climate change

or just weird?

 

my girlie diamonds

with nitrogen vacancies

fixed by constant measurement

 

compute Zeno’s arrow,

while Pierrot

pines

 

for the moon

to be architected right

you should be expeditionary

 

not confident

of success

but launching

 

malaise toward

battlements

toward

 

toward

slow songs

like your

 

ovum

your ovum!?

sure, honey

 

my cloner my

love, come

clean

 

your moon

is the

broom