So there are balmy days on the surface of Mars and I look up and it’s still
wtf are you still here? And about to drop into the rooftop pool
with your horses, those unwinning twins. I need to find my way home
and draw the roof over my head, I’m shivering under the palms
because it’s like wtf? Apparently we’re all good
educated people who can situate an ironic distance between the hierarchy of gods,
men, and horses, and the DJs who spin poolside. But then again once
in a while I get into looking into my phone and it’s like, honey
used as a preservative? The spines along the inside of a skull?
“Decomposing without pomp, it suffers our sidelong nosegay.” Roadkill.