high noon,
moon shines.
low eyes
swoon swine.
oh my sides
shift
up and
moon drifts
call out
shout
miff
cloud six
signs fix
bold minds
drift
and though i don’t shower,
i drip.

so,
does the child whimper?
does the mother kit swiftly?
do the hobbies meander
into bimonthly streaks?
where do dig shepherds
drink cases of you?
will they still be on their feet?
and either way,
can dregs steep?
can wounds discretely
keep us free?
can blood by like holy wine?
or does it transmit weakly
to the radio sheep?
can watches tick
as seconds itch?
can holding tunes
be singing?
i think.
i theet.
i shift.
i sheath.
swords for you,
and shields for me.