forecasting.

the sky cracked and spilled more children from
the places where unborn lightening lived
they came down to us nose to eye and
as they lifted their shirts to false eyes

it liquified our organs,
and turned them to mineral water

each crooked mouth
of the next unnamed generation
begged to know the answer
to the same question

a mouth speaks into the radio and tells us
wait and sit on your hands
until your shadows become confusing
while the four false suns are setting

shadow lead them all the way down
the wrong side of the fork
to the wrong side of the morning.

you will find my house there
in the wrong side of night
as the sky cradles and booms life

I feel nothing. clouds disperse
and insides appear, again.
I feel nothing. As the little one bites my hand
I feel nothing.