The super ball is a comet
rips through passive air.
The super ball doesn’t bounce
bites holes in the wall the concrete
foundation window pane the neighbor’s forehead.
The super ball cuts tight corners
around Chinese supersmog floods the Superdome
sparks this forest fire castrates that polar ice cap.
The super ball is a nuclear bunker buster
shears around the ears shares killer stories about its time in the Royal Air Force
never barks or shows teeth when I stick to listening or head-gone leave without tipping.
The super ball is grey not gray a dumb way
for a poet to describe anything of such magnitude by
its lack-of-color which some people cannot see or ignore or paint over
with all the gravity of a man crushed undone turned inside out by a falling anvil.
2 thoughts on “Moyecques”
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