Out Like a Lamb

The Surface of Mercury

I am rocky, moonless,
got no use for rings

a solid sprinter round the wide, distended sun

and

I am seasoned, thin and crispy
pizza oven way beyond hot-white

I tell you I am burnt,
                             grey and textured
                   flaking shelves
         of brittle ash
to be
di s
         i n
                   te
         gr a
t          e           d
into evening comet

and
divorce court cold, my
Über-Arctic operas sung
in keys shattered sharp

I am ice and fire
blood and bone
heated all the way
and chilled completely through

unmanned,
relishing the cosmos.



note ▼

April 13—Describe yourself as landscape