Art saved.

aloft in a tank
expansive and ordinary basketball
an urban outpost wrapped
in physics and ritual.

My orbiting matrona
sieving sight from me
most elegant liar
to make me believe otherwise
I want to watch you sleeping
so shallowly in your watery hold
pull open your warm folds quietly
to the holding at the center.
It is there the compass shifts against the pole
the vane that turns the viking home
with perfect regularity.

Metaphysical weight hews to the base
and tethers the atmosphere
lifting the anchor in the bay
the spare space white floors
white lofty ceiling
where for several moments
my barometric brain was lifted.

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