Maureen N. McLane

The moon rose in the skyas the moon rose in the poemthe new held in the lap of the oldand we talked about the weatherand imminent disaster forestalledsince we were together.

Comrades, I am with youunder this very full moon!and we shall not yet set forthbut will talk about the shapeof things and thereby shapethis hour this day if notthis life –

Orange zinnias. Lettuces bolted,some salvageable. Babiesand teargas on Facebook.Money’s an algorithm.

Someone’s got rhythm.Did iambic pentametermarch along with British soldiers –maybe. I take my

waking slow, click among linksin the morning in bed –is it a cocoon, is it Procrustean –O my modern self too long lefton the shelf with old booksand expired cans of...

all daypersonifying plantsEvil NettleFascist Weed

boing boingI do not want youmatter out of placeI rip you outI favour the desiredthe useful to me to me to me!

meanwhile stars doing themselvesin the skyinsouciant celebrityassholes they don’t carewhy don’t they caredon’t theyCassiopeia angling the skyopen triangles mouths and teethof vanity, griefbut where, where is the beltof...

Everywhere/todaythe irises insistedon waving their blue flags

Hairy tongued thingswith mouthshanging open

as if to fuck the air

O la la la spring& dying

the usual song

            ‘Every flower in a garden/is a sign            of a complete failure’            the landscape designer declared

Why...

From here you used to see the sea.The gulls still palaver the fishing boats still ekeout what they can. At dusk the Eastern Point Lightevery five seconds flashes white,the Dog Bar Light shines occulting red,the Ten Pound Islandevery six seconds blinks isophase red.These are their characteristics.So many beaches reefs and shoalsnamed for woes then woes effacedlike your footprint just now in wet...