Microwaveable: a Lyric Poem

MICROWAVEABLE

we love force

comb the ant tribe

like distant writing

shed forelegs

stimulants, guns

without safety or craft

we are spores without souls

we work like fruit

drain the sea

with our dogless wagging

what’s the desiccation of another jelly fish

the death of farflung lungs

inside, our cells do the wave

when the moon stumps by