Poetry

For the beasts and men, 
a transition will not work. 
This was explicit cap― 
the polar ice was melting. 
 
He will not take the slights 
for the moon. He will 
not go far from the eyes 
of stars. 
 
Not enough, the astringent 
microbes were peeling off 
your mask. Sometimes you want 
a frugal strangulation. 
 
Incredible. The words 
were making a mound, out― 
of the space, left by 
the departed fever.