The day brings minor violences

          made in the image

of money : dirty martini sunlight,

          sluggish, airplanes

taking off and touching down

          inside my ears, a collapse

of reflective weather
on radar, its red blotches

          moving out, a panic

amassing in paranormal fog.

          Sheathed in UV

duratrans with an earthquake

          under the skin, I skew

in relation to market
flux, a Doliprane – ibuprofen

          regimen. At night

it’s a samurai war

          in the air, a burning

behind the film.

          By six in the morning the

mortar shelling is real.