It’s always already antique.
Air moving out to in as though
It’ll never retreat. Life being
Just enough for biography.
Not a fact a plenty. I’m waving
Empty gestures at the
Stationary geese. I’m taking
A photo of the sun through
A series of mirrors. There it is
On the internet, there it is
Hanging like a mobile above
My brain. Oh! Blessed rage
For pageviews. Without
Your glasses on you see me
Like I have your glasses on.