I thought Stromboli was done exploding, 

like hidden jars over the Pelice 

but there were a few lights left… 

Oh! They were stars looking like 

pinpricks in a filthy sheet! 

How lewd and lovely. 

I couldn’t quite see the man 

strumming the sawtooth-hammerhead 

shark, but I would know the sound 

of drowning on land anywhere. 

It goes well with butter. 

His face only bends a little each way 

but it’s like the universe was born 

in one of his happy crinkles. 

My gold has turned silver 

though there are times I wish it hadn’t. 

We believe in a vague destiny- 

part petals, potatoes, and prayer – 

with heavy hearts and light promises 

and though we try to turn fractals 

into something complicated, a fern 

will speak up and remind us to shut up.


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