Fog Streak

That moonsun has been glowing
        all the livelong day
        above the furry grey-green
                         frock
                         of
                         sky.

The long glide draws time upon
        the weary brain
              ever hovers
                      over China's fog.

We race to waste
                  every unspent scrap of entropy
                  'ere eternal orb
                                     may cleave
                                     the firmament.

We relish in the verbs, the
                  jet speed shadows
                  the drapes of touch,
                  piping nouns
                                    like pole vessels down
                                           ear's canal.

When hiss transforms to
                  Mesmer's static,
                  heavy skull
                  may come to rest
                  against a
                  darkened
                  mirror.