Rooftops speak to the sky throughout the night,
sheltering fingers peeling clementines,
as the faces of the moon iced onto a cake
help us to illustrate how knowledge is consumed.
Workers in launderettes wash socks to pay the rent
making sure to check pockets for spare change,
as drains clog up with leaves and plastic sleeves for straws,
leaving us to ask: what are we here for?
a spear on a wall
a soldier rubbing their chin
a waning waterfall
these walls are too thin
Approach with ill intent a bag of unmixed cement
placed at one end of a see-saw.
A career in the stars; a lifetime in the mud;
the wink of a dove scratching patterns into skin.
If fingers rough from weaving rugs stroke their children’s cheeks enough
they leave their offspring with the love of a coarse sponge.
All hairs are laid end to end from throughout history,
we walk this line screaming: where will it get me?
a column crumbles down
a note left on a plate
a dog dressed in a gown
it’s all over in a handshake