Scared Text

STUPID MOON

1 THE WORM’S FIRST FILM Two horses climb a hive.The plumage around their waists retracts. I ate mace, one thinks. No one knows I ate mace. His mouth repeats a top lip twice. Don’t tell my brother. Please. A still shows his core is a molting eel. It ekes some light then glows back in its hole. It grows glass from its face. It sleets. No blinking, he says to himself, through his peel. He blinds his own ivory with the finest lamps. Does he seed a dot of blood? Do his teeth feed leaves? Clouds polish him plush.This is the last fence, dust. 1 VOTIVE SCORES If eels lie vertically inside the statue or old bees coat its surface, a needle will point to the center of my hide. Owls murmured up a piece of green cloth. Hard ash topped me. The birds it entailed peopled the treetops, stripped me of my coos. Un-tuned doves flew elsewhere, worried their drones would shrink inside my ears. A second split occurred when its eyes bloomed red. Votive scores pushed open the view. Here, the street was both omen and throat. The swarming sky sparrowed until day withered, until the statue punched out of its skin. He was wearing his own arms. His house showed. Ants formed and he scorched their trails. Sing rendered. he trilled, Sing posed. 1 CANARY ARIA When a canary’s aria dredged the fringe from a drowned colt, it inherited its way of breaking apart. Differing is one long moment. We cannot divide its songs. ...