Part of an Act of Making

poam for Thylias Moss

play my broken digital age
what’s left of these maidens
that chews at the rabbit cage
any scream’s really a song
in the key of good sons
dislodging their collapsible
intentions here in the midwest
if my video goggles work
like this is our first ritual
in an era of lost children
to find them play vibraphones
that derive from urban covens
this knowledge of laundry
that let’s every martian land