1.On your knees and scream,“Hail, Hail, Apophis”
My PhD in Eschatology,
is useless. I’ll gnash teeth
with the rest you-all. Forty-
six and not expecting
in 2029.
Only the wicked are diagnosed
triskaidekaphobes, given pills,
reprimanded, reminded
better to be silent than negative.
11, 38, 91, 125, 144, 163, 194…
today—bolide out there, fired
on time, an approximate twenty-six,
but for the sleepy period
between 38 and 91. We made
amphibian then.
I watch the news, The stars of heaven
fall unto the Earth. Exalted sheep piled
on the right, snubbed goats evaporated
on the left.
Sister and I, create fuzz with cotton.
2. A Guide to Amateur Astronomy
It’s more fun to look for
an anomalous star, then fret
over vicissitudes.
Simulated models show the moon
colliding with your continents,
You read it, and Murphy records it.
Frontiers are where customs
break like collapsing universes, space
wide enough for American ingenuity.
My kaleidoscope whispers,
“Put me in your pocket,
run towards the mountains.”
3. The New New American Frontier
Louis, Clark, George W.,
my sister and I, will not wait
to be the third world’s bundled tares.
Packing the superficial out of spite.
Gold rings, silk ties, moon pies,
and soda pop for base camp.
See potential in this arid acidic
corpse’s mouth—nothing says,
begin anew, a bottomless pit.
Inside, a world with two moons,
building one with two suns,
shared deities—no darkness,
or curios theocracy.
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