moon belly

So we lay strewn sixty-nine and dead brained —

According to the news, we were loving

While the red sun flipped, ‘a pole reversal’

Marked midpoint solar cycle ‘twenty-four’,

But we’re yawning, and achey the awnings

Beneath for we: the mites in the cold halls

of mountain kings.

The sun is upside-down today you see,

And no lab-coated haircut of a man stands

before your double bed breaking real news.