in the wake of a full moon the heavens turned a dark hue.
weathermen prophesied; but what could be done?
swollen eyes pleading to the animated sky-
sun, moon and star mobiles spin over empty cribs-
always grasping for something more.
drawing a circle through space and time-
one line to mark the beginning and the end.
initial inscription entailed,
sea water and cement, a curious pair-
and rain falling, in open air.
how do we cope?
basement level apartments still trying to stay afloat.
in the case of internment, break glass, because third-class is a windowless mirage.
delirious, I suspect icy seas and CCTVs rewired to look introspectively.
interior Peanut city officials muddle words on little screens.
mushroom cloud irises are all I see.
slaughterhouse sheep, poor Shepherd couldn’t bear another starry sleep.
a nice pillow and pad, and a blanket weighing down our chest.
comfortable, counting each shallow breath beside a flickering flame-
losing sleep, over some lost change.
they say it’s one for the ages,
so in preemptive precaution next week’s schedule is a clean slate-
and today, I am free.
today, I am free to watch-
headless city folk tote bags of chicken noodle soup and scented candles, returning to roost in the high rises,
while man on the street prays for dry feet-
to clarify, I have no complaint.