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.