Resplendent cloudforms swarm the moon,
while lonely rooms light up
with the night's fun:
drinking alone
reading strange books
waiting for the war.
All good folks are in bed
the bare branches
make their cursive
over the still streets;
buildings reflect sober
light & the ionosphere
dribbles speeches,
O Otto the many colors
of grey are broken
open by the white of angels
flayed & falling
upon our silent streets. There is
a bell tower also silent:
no need to sound
an alarm before the bombs
are here. Let them sleep,
Otto, until their shifts begin
& the factories & the cubicles,
classrooms, & charcuteries
all ring with the freedom to be birthed,
to toil, to be cast aside & put
to rest beside the monolith
on the outskirts, a landmark we've
visited but seldom spoken of before.
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