The night of handsome stars dishevels faint moonlight.
We were encroaching answers while better questions wrote decisively on missing green stones.
All our wrongs drown in September’s river rush, somewhere pooled with strange kindness.
Unfortunate misdemeanors muddled plans to take over the excavations of buried dreams.
Oversized goats in someone else’s apartment grazed the emerald carpet before notebooks lost most pages.
The remaining soldiers, mere children without skin, knew the moon is impartial.
It watches as coins are counted by desperate mothers enumerating sorrows.
We chased sleep into houses with too many beds and not enough functioning doors.
Artificial intelligence wrote us encrypted memos to dodge rotating cubicles for the park while recruiting the newest blend.
Books never arrived.
Issues were skirted under slanted tabletops set for a dinner party that never drew close.
A drawer flew from the moving vehicle on a highway of trampolines and carousels.
I may have been there.
I don’t know.