voices perched on air like a crib
death. blanket-quiet, searching for a limb
or music to fill the cul-de-sac. casual statements
offered up and abandoned, crusht
midflight like a hawk preoccupied
with the fractal image of switch grass
because it is in love. talk is a video.
mechanical vs. nature vs. civilization
vs. dogshit it doesn't matter.
a street cleaner riffs over asphalt, a wasp
blurring through its work.
yellow is the color of radiation be it opiate
or oblivion, conversation or interrogative. &
language is its own limit. kids and animals still
luminous because they kill and burn
these moments like matches to insects.
curiosity is their last hormone of fear,
just a smear of laughter against glass
buildings and their infrastructure, as if a consequence
were a simple equation infected
with ridiculous assumptions unchecked
until now, the way i imagine cattle perceive
time. is everything moving
at the speed of light? is dusk more than
simple dead sun? gravity's just unnecessary
clothing, time to test its hem.
