Instamatic

They're demonstrating space-timeagain, the bats. All day the bridge's dank was ripefor census, but they launch as a singularattraction, a thick

         scrunch of bat-fabric

plotting diagrams on blankevening. The arc of tourists uncap cameras and taketheir moments: batsas flung sand, as fishnet stocking, as a thin

         stretch of black static

winding toward sunset.Shake out every album and the cityis immediate. A spotless switchyard meets its rustingghost. Dumpsters and draft horses bask in the diner's

         clutch of cracked, spastic

neon. I took picturesof a fairy tale, once. Here's the dragon,a pile of bones. Here's the princess,a zygote,

         sconced in pale, tragic

petri. We married in June and she was beautifulfrom certain angles. Our boys werekilled in every war at once.