Apps 12.10.13


The frost Neko carries, as she
strides into snow, pins her eyes
open, as points of balance
disappear, between us and for
the tiny light she carries, soul-
orphan given brief shelter to
kindle sparks when she opens
her mouth, raises her head-voice
and sings; no needle touches
down where I can feel it, as too
much of her decamps, no mortgage
on her insides (whoever moves in,
moves in) through blank whiteness—


America has its own pathetic fallacy—
not that the moon loves the clouds,
but that someone who knows us
really loves us, is watching from
above, tying together loose ends,
reducing boundaries, corralling the
populace into a virtual arena where
we watch ourselves defeat all foes
eternally. Just as mountains kiss the
sky, all things happen for a reason,
things right themselves in the end.
Now, we’re pale for weariness,
wandering companionless, and if
we’re climbing heaven, we feel hellish.