the ghosts of moths (2005)
sirens, pole-dancing on their wicks
splash kohl on our faces.
head shadows chicane to beats imaginary
in a flat menagerie where
out of body furniture
flutter-rumbas worried over the walls.
i tell you they are the ghosts of moths
– summoned by long-dead candles –
warning off their offspring.
you are blind to it
even as they cling at your cheeks
mocking your nose with
jiving conesnout silhouettes.
furred heads merge over the sideboard
when i take your wine glass.
your thoughts moonwalk to me through the black
along a one way wall
carry fragments of light sources, physics,
sharp white with superior angles.
only briefly later does your mind flap
at a bright question.
it dawns upon you with the hatching day
to wonder why the moths all keep away.