Birds strung on high-tension wires,
my tongue heavy in its thick hot nest,
I slip out. Arch Drive quiet.
Lily doing downward dog.
A few leaves float in the pool.
Arkady working on his children's
book with a message, about cats
in dogface in a minstrel show.
The convenience store where
I was asked to become an escort.
The cafe where paparazzi
camp out with telephoto lenses.
It's snowing. Rivers of fire
cut through mountains.
Chaparral burns, everyone
saying hello, hello. I try
to belong, to mimic sounds.
It's snowing. We wear masks.
We're all very nice. Sentient
beings, birds struck from the sky.
TODAY IN SLATE
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