Parading

me in soak / with a duck, having mashed potatoes and gravy, while out there

I wonder if the very small ants are afraid

— my satsuma-oil sweat and strain dissolving back

Keep a few trinkets in your wallet to balance out the plastic

red, red / everything.

And I realized you are in singing,

Why write love poetry in a burning world?

And a purple fog descended upon the land.

I believe the world is beautiful

stairway to nowhere—we want