By | 1 May 2018

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.

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