Earthly bodies ravage moon

cakes and warm their bellies

with salted suns — evidence

that the universe is eating

itself.

 

Outside, the trees strip raw.

Children bruised with sidewalk

clamor for pieces of red-orange

luck. Sticky hands close

around stickier air.

 

And then there are the stars,

the aunts and their -ologies

to explain away my future.

What an auspicious match

you’ll make! I tongue the carcass 

of a persimmon, yearning

for youth left behind in 

hot summer haze.

 

    

 

 

 

   

 

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