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.
Pound out a binary syncopation—
One, zero, one, one, zero,
One, 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”