Everything I note here is integrated, resonating
within symbolic thought thru which you can point to the horizon
that’s both magnified and askew.

The float is radiant, jammed with radiant things,
a collective but no modernism; if you had been eloquent on the spot
we’d need no captions.

What does there’s still a move beyond the modern to go do?

You got the feeling, the only unmoving part.
This is your and my failure now
in a city of kowtowing moguls who pay for it.
Moods are out of place given our place in biology.
We bear no responsibility

for foundering within the social paradox of violence.
If you admit you rejoice in tricky intersections you’ll be taking sides.