Ruined works of art will drift downstream until the city is regulated. Spiders that die like sneezes, in wads of tissue. Death’s gleam and tear rivulets, fractured from your eye. Tomorrow no statues or cosmic rays will extend their kisses. Solar figment of sentiment. Indirect water flows from the aesthetic. Your finger splits the end of feeling into tributaries, hoping for a shipwreck. Invisible electricity all over your skin. It calls for old-fashioned technology and meditation. Missed, crushed, moving, recognition framing the white walls. If the spider escapes, will imagination persist? Oceans of data dissolving under entropy’s eyelash, hardening into a midnight seed. Anarchy in dark rings speaking from the shores. You said we are smash. Conjunctions will make love from each of these things.