There’s a tower the lake calls Brother.
in my eye that swims like nightfish.
Her brother answers, stupid girl. That’s the moon.
Stupid moon. That’s the girl.
They salt their skin with ginger and then attack.
The females have thicker skin to survive the kisses.
The monk, a charming politico, materializes to curse the black city.
I am carrying a rich woman’s child.
One shoe has fallen and is lost.
theaters with the tops off.
pulling behind it lion cages and upside-down ladies pasted with red glitter.
izing lover. Don’t feel the sugar.
I notice I am emptier with you.
Head. Bun. Sheet cake. Bird.
At what time did the judge’s wife call on her advisors?
The blue time. The tooth time. The current time. The blue-green time.
At what hour did the judge’s wife dissolve into my very own cave?
More violence and more nudity.
fountain idea of a fountain in a park at all, or the idea of pedal boats.
Or the idea of swans.
become what she is meant to becoming.
at the sign of company. Treasure. Stranger.
even have to take one month.
that pleases us, under a glass bowl.
a pear in a grove of golden balls and vine.
They have taken our keys to the end of the night.
off a cliff in wet embrace.
Fall off the end of the city-world, of line.
The tower has stolen another child, and all his children are white.
whimpers the moon, but she is squinting in the treedark.
between a magician and a devil.
The lake dreams of years spent lost and naked in a marriage to the judge.
Arielle Greenberg’s books include the poetry collection Slice (Coconut), the nonfiction work Locally Made Panties (Ricochet) and the revised, electronic edition of the Gurlesque anthology (Saturnalia, coedited with Lara Glenum and Becca Klaver).