Ducking my calls
because elusive is all the rage.
Connected by way of departure,
we have our holidays
in craters… like all the idiot moons
but have no stomach for an orbit
of respect. just a jot of glum
on a poignant tongue
in a Night Socket.

Beating wings against an open wound
where the wind is salt
and shards of everlasting
Comedy.

Constant.