In June

In June, the city will melt
From the yellow sky and
Cascade down to the carpet,
The cars will stain fluorescent
And my dog's tongue
Will burn from lapping
The liquid.

In July, a typhoon will
Overtake the intensity of
A comet. Someone
Behind a tall gate will cup
Their hands and auction off
The plumbing.

In August, the planets will
Fall on my shoulders and bicker
On my hair.

I have seen these scenes before.
They are the scenes of tomorrow.

A hawker calls.
An eye shimmers.
Somewhere, orange.
Elsewhere, green.

I am mesmerized by the magnanimity
Of routine, its space as infinite
In my life as my revulsion of the thing.

Feel the velocity of a tantrum,
The slowing of it
Through cigarette
Once every two years.

And hear now the morning rush,
Listen for the slush of
Wind slapping down metal at five,
And once again later - at five,
The hurtling of fabric on collarbones,
The bite of the moon on the side of the sun.

In September, colder nights.
In October, Halloween.
In November, birthdays.
And in December, disbelief.

I slice longing and grief,
Ambition and regret
Year by year, and serve them
On a plate.

In January, the city will be rebuilt.