Everything I note here is integrated, resonating
within symbolic thought that’s both magnified and askew.

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

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

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

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