1 January 2024
the present moment effect
très chic, we’re magnetically
locked together, the ingratiating
surface noise being a daisy-chained
digital current an haute couture
snow dome painted by an old master
or someone of equivalent skill, like
secret pyro girl, wild throated she
smells the ocean, and lets it burn
the forest in your hands
they, too, are guilty as the sky,
generously they unroll the law,
the squandered profits, the ships of song