Spell to Ward Off Copyright Infringement
Humming from the awning, some techno song
says nothing in French. The ash tree decays
and Mort's alive again—light splayed
across the narrow Jersey sunset, a long
strip of orange fragrant with what I'm on.
Lost at sea, birdlessly amazed,
I watch the sky for ships, as if the day
had not departed already into song—
Trail of Death Stars, drag my body through
the meadow till I'm full of daffodil,
re-frame my eyes to match his glasses,
leave me face-up, underneath the spill
of sky, clothes torn, shucked and defenseless,
sick from my heart beating my body senseless.