The mountains too will melt and crumble
tumbling into the sea, and every castle
ends up made from sand. The list
ticked down from one thing to
the next meant to put the world to order
or at least make some sort of map
contriving all these whos and whys
painting a description of the dervishing down
the drain. A face, a name, some defensive
inscription to sum up this strange
continuity— a toddler excitedly
offering and then after and then.
You look both ways, there’s no
there there. The caption below
a photo you know, the freshly unearthed
lede. The mirror always gets it backwards,
the self sugar glistening on
a stranger’s tongue.
