Marrus orthocanna

Imagine a long train,
                   every coach 
a dining car. Imagine 
                   the sparks 
firing up each cell of 
                   its engines.
Imagine a pole strung 
                   with clear, red-
orange lanterns. Every
                   thing's a mouth,
every mouth's bobbin or
                   an appetite.
O bell-shaped medusae 
                   ringing through
the ocean night: would I 
                   forget my place
in this domino-scatter of 
                   work and desire?
Only a hot plumb line cuts
                   through our pronouns:
I, you, we, us. Each polyp's 
                   colony can't exist
except in the blur with others.  

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