Who is king in this winded up world?
A symphony of tin cans that rattle in place of a neighbor
Hug me as if to say never mind.
I tied them together to make a kite, it doesn’t help.
They sent me a muttering
Telegram
(Not delivered.)
I won’t belong to any of these universes.
Winged nymphs will devour your craw
Magicicadas erect new walls
Confusing themselves, but it is barely spring.
(I am not there; if you look, look now)
Somewhere in between
Craters of organelles,
Red-eyed battles, beasts that engorge like blood oranges-
Our tongues elope.
Something other than God
Stares at you through
Damask wallpaper in citadel
Nighttime.
Each grace is
Impeccably versed.
We can’t hear anything besides
Winged nymphs making love again and again
(So look-look now!)
But there’s never going to be a girl like me.
Nothing sounds the same in their version of English
And they wonder why
No one has anyone to talk to
But I do.
