MIDGE TWITCH

Glumping in the runkle of a midge twitch
with a slinky and a serrated rainbow jackknife-
tucked into a barley-cork for daylight
at a full stop...

at Night. 

some sort of contraption; 
the actual
beating heart of the moon
noteworthy for gazing
at the Fugazi
of our
work

without a star to pin 
to a moon’s
compass
however
Noon.

Trading on our whimsical affairs,
we spice the McGuffin
with a pinch of twee smirk
and malicious vermouth.
we gin the rigor of our spiral descent
with a debauchery
to span the bloat of our delusions 
combing the banks
of our foggy creek beds 
for applesauce
and farthings.
leaping into the shriek 
of our lull.

undaunted by
the stars
at the edge
of the
worst. 

as we pillage 
unrefined
and

Unrehearsed.