See, Saw

What of the clouds
that form rapacious-like
along the long horizon
of our city;

over the sea,
thin cobwebs have settled
as the moon scuttles towards
its hapless prey:

the thousand knots
wrapped in silk that become
the unnamed stars.

We smoke in thoughtless
silence. Two plumes
lift away.

There is nothing left
to give now
as the orange belly
descends upon us,

a spotted maw to welcome
our disaster
as we swing entranced,

as far off ships
lose their bearings,
sailing upwards by cover
of darkness,

ensnared by wild dreams
and reasonless fog,

the lights
that become faces
that become
the unclaimed stars.

We are made to
feel indistinct then.

You tell me: the clouds
shroud more than light
they steal our souls,

and this is how we live —
with traffic jams
in our hearts

and our throats always
catching, as if
on the verge of tears.

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