The sky has never looked
so cheap before — — telephone lines
like the snagged threads
of your lover’s shirt.
Moon the shape of a fingernail pinch
& stars that glitter in discount;
no wonder we can look at it;
no wonder every lover can claim the stars
as yours, they exist
for nursery rhymes and wishes
decayed & to be celestial
is but a ticket
turned to you if you can clasp your hands
& make yourself vulnerable to every possible
bullet your way. Bang!
We can hear the airplanes.
it sounds like the sky
grunting, it sounds like we’re hungry.
Fetch me the crystal candies in the sky, love.
Grab the moon when it turns into cookie.
The night is an ocean of grape juice.
This is the cheapest we can get.