Cicada at the Cusp of Eyelid and Socket


Even the machine in the window cannot hum louder.
Nor the autos sputtering and rocketing determinedly
across tin timidity and sky. Throbbing metropolis of tripas and hidagos;
This sprawling device I’ve devised down to the twist of a wire--
Snip and scorch. I’ve mattered prior to this. To this fluid
Where we convince cicadas to prowl relentless ballads for majesty that
Won’t exist, not for insects; I conjure mattresses on which to expound
this thing that’s happened between me and you. I say I may be
back—watch my diligence expand, watch my red mouth bloom so
astoundingly.