Past Marriage Rings Cuffed Neatly Between Nation-States’s Grocery Bags

arousing discomfort like bags
of headache powder towering to hell

Paris dancing with glasses of water
and Snowy Albatross turkey meat grind

the blank screen after the anthem
smells like vanilla groceries

and carefully adapted sock hops
that could not hold in their excitement

for ash-riddled Peperomia Burbella-curls
and solar excavations like tired eyes

in the great castles between here
and death, loosely off the Earth

loosely off our shoulders, commending
the excitable page number,
on the finally accessible text
upon one’s movement past matter