White Plains
the cabin contained twos.
two continents, two pegs,
two pairs of legs
–other lovers’ sexes, pinned
to pine slats. left to dry and
return to two dusts, outside
the night sky.
at a time, when dusk
smells like freshly ousted
candle, sirius siphoned breath from them
into a sidereal canopy. watch
their breaths erect and hollow:
two white tents backgammoned
against a surrogate sky.
two white planes, panicked,
and surmised: you can
feel no harm here.
and sometimes when
women cry wells restore themselves
arrogant and bovine: you can feel
no harm here. accept the slow crumbling of two
continents sepia and divine.
Wimpy AF is an art archivist that moonlights as a poet and painter. The AF is for Afrofuturist.
