this poem is a second-hand market toothbrush
a kind of makeshift relation
as if you were going to college in the 40’s
to dodge a future of free-floating icebergs
made by Amish carpenters good at their craft
rustic cannibals eating a questionable stew of birds
just before they killed a school teacher
and ate her eyes as prophecy of
what lay ahead & saying “Hello” to the moon