from These Late Eclipses
AN HAUNTOLOGY
The single-channel recon sky, its pyrite star deleted from a flooded loading bay, is crazed with fly ash, afterwar, irradiated glass. I’m retrofitting a memory, to divert its trajectory. A crass wind shirrs the concrete pool. How easily tension will snap. Sirens grieving on either side of sleep.
SQUAWK CODE
Passing under a ginkgo tree the universe skews to lux redux, a trip-hop blear of nuclear color, of ocular straylight as filtered, ultraviolet, through its leaves. The octal air is transponding the signals of radioradiant June: sump pump, hornets’ nest, the aphrodisiac dust of an outer star.