Snow here. Was. Is. Imagine you didn’t have batteries
No juice. Your claim on light falls
short of capture. Who sees
clear as glue
behind length times width anyway?
Line equals railway
equals river
that tin foil emulates
II. Aurora
All the Arthurs are in Scarborough
today to tinsel. And the Hudson is an opus
bejeweled in icing rocks initialed
by Rubenstein himself. Laughter buoys
as passengers replace passengers
at stations vaguely Canadian.
Large packages on a final stretch of life
as cargo. And thick electrical wire suspends
like bullkelp between steel – être bien dans sa peau
The Manhattans dub this car, “I’m gonna miss you.”
III. Moonphase
Flourish and spin for six hours
steep
drip
ripe
The hysterical pinwheel resolves by wind method.
Beyond the scope of inputs, outlets and speakerboxes,
there are foam shapes on the seashore
battered bays where the cliffs tell what they lost.
There are matchsticks born generous—
pains that have just recently been discovered
every day an average of three new species.
It’s doubtful I forgot my dream
because I spent all night in yours,
but if you blur your eyes a little, the speed will smudge every face’s smile
and your thimble could feel no time.
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