2/3 disko

full moon
half blood
singular
we think: the american loves stories
banquets of braved hearted empty words
they gorges themselves in
what’s your story they’ll ask
–drinking your light
at their feast
dizziness and work
always work. one works on
feed them stories
and if i was in love
–it would be
with hands flanging whale
with hands cutting mattaq
with faces of winter light from within
the american want a lifted path
of happiness
they are all the same:
each wanting their own