Astrognomics

I go to a mouth to taste morning news
and it tastes like fresh oregano.
Who looked at the stars swirling
and offered to change places with the night?
This happened in the dark harbor.
His poster is on the wall, falling down
building where we love.

Even asleep our bodies
yadda yadda like televisions
heard through apartment walls,
the news unreliable on this side
of the partitionment.

I mean the skin.

I mean the skin that covers thought
the way oregano covers earth.
I want to cover the words
with skin. I want to see them breathe
through the layer of this.
I want the words in a telegram
that grows its own moisture.

It’s so little to ask of the stars
for leaving us only the dawn of things.