or a revivifying whiff

Or a Revivifying Whiff

And so she stands in the middle of the abbess’s dictation and

begins to jump from one roof to the next, her movements so clean

beggars of all sexes will be given alms not here but at the

small monitor that projects an ultrasound-like image,

that of a sectioned beehive where now the light simply pours

a future city protruding from the wasteland like the blackened

work over the treeless meadows, with the great pressing wheel to use

quickly, then drops something inside a garbage can

behind it, with all the holy inhabitants sleeping within, all those

like bodies in a morgue. Plywood covering a small window is

how she looks when visions overcome her; but instead of shining

suddenly suspended by the finality of this moment hurling,

she will renounce her long struggle against the central beauty of

walking through the puddles pooling in the carpet.