the moon is sick with a virus.
turns green then yellow. decay 
on a celestial level. what does it take
for a planet to rot. i am scared
for our souls in these kinds of conditions.
i used to pray on my knees. i used to prau
every single night. mistaking the stroller
for a dark horse, i'll mutter
the our father as if it will save me.
my whole family is made of soap.
we lose whole fingers in a downpour
& a sink whittles us down. i have no use
for my digits anymore. all my veins are wires.
plug me into the cable jacket
i want to listen to MTV in my brain.
this is a reality TV show. i sit down
in a confessional & tell the camera
once i used to dream of being
a hang glider & now look at my life.
my mom asks what i do when i am 
too tired to move my body. the truth is
i lay on the floor & watch my phone 
scroll into a prophecy. please amputate
my feed. don't get me wrong
i am a voyuer but not this consistently.
where are the fruit plates? where is 
the fancy cheese? i need a frog
to sing to me. before bed, sometimes 
my dad would sing to me. i didn't deserve
that kind of mouth. i don't sing
not even alone, not even to myself.
the moon will get better if we all 
keep believing in it. i look up 
& see her full as a coin. she's coughing
into the river. up close in the mirror
my face has the texture 
of the moon. craters & another man 
lurking behind there. i fear sleep
because i'm scared i'll die before
i wake up. some wiccans believe
when we die we'll all go
to the summerland. i don't know
if i trust anything. i don't like it here
but at least i know the texture of 
saddess & feeling muscle aches.
i am pointing a kaledioscope
at the moon & telling her 
she looks so much better.

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