Cosmos equals panic –
broken, badly reapportioned
sets of limbs and torsos,
savagely undone by sun:
color is too brutal
to be undergone. Everyone’s
an imminence, a bomb –
outfitted peculiarly –
hormonal volatilities
that charge your old
mammalian barge
and make it tremble, bulge
and steam like hell.
Someone rang the bell.
Throw the towel in.
Open up a crack. Blow
a little agency into the hole
in you and see if anything
comes back. Nothing
stops. Call the cops.
There are no cops.
.
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