the television burns her heart hollow
with holographic campaigns &
subversive schemes vs. nature.

her mind suffers some phantom
discomforts. mornings are the
worst, when the streetlights
obscure the stars out there.

she glides aimlessly along
these angled sidewalks,
with god & youth on her side.
they’ll die for her if they have to,
with pills or ropes or rifles.

her telephone is unbreakable.
she’s a waiting fire for public
consumption. if she burns you
then you’re basically holy.
her fingers are comets
accelerating towards everywhere.

she can feel her options
like the sky falling. if she
holds her breath, the clocks
around here will break.

her mind orbits the city.
one day she will walk
straight to heaven
through the sea divided.