from "The Split"

It's stringy     out here

                           in the stratosphere.
 

The sad night ticks like a homemade bomb.
 

I dream each night (in Cancerqueen, so many nights!) about the
churning streets, the way each person passing, in her, his surly,
individuated shoes, I didn't know but could have known.
This seeming simpler now than then.