Woodpecker Sentinels

Fishwife come, fishwife served.
The Moon’s components spatial,
Sunward-facing, a constraint—
A stationmaster of flux.

Asteroids lightweight & streak—
Chockful of RNA stuff &
Vitamin B3 residues—
Dash the black void.

Fishmonger plumbed, fishmonger unnerved.
Woodpecker sentinels
Pound out a binary syncopation—
One, zero, one, one, zero,

One, zero, zero, zero,
Zero.

What I’m Reading:

“If grief is love with nowhere to go, this is 
my mouth turning into snow. 
This is somewhere.”

— Allison Benis White / “Description of Symptoms”