“There is a sense in which we are all each other’s consequences.”
—Wallace Stevens, All the Little Live Things
Every day has been a chance
to live within the margins
that remain and maintain
the rigor of keeping it together.
Some normalized themselves
to a saturation point when
conspiracies’ realities are
unconfirmed real threats.
The calendar says winter is coming.
Where is this god that so many claim?
The one that protects and loves us or
that other one that enjoys mercy.
Queer as feelings, speculation has left
us wild. Go ahead—we might as well
make our own temporal decisions.
Loud, quiet, loud. Fringed dynamics.
The greed of men. A sagging breast.
Haphazardly adjacent as ecstasy.
Our animal consciousness seek
what we recognize, warm refuge.
Cache Culture 