With that pink-ass moon in Sagittarius beaming obscenely
on the Flatirons, ruffling up infamy, you’d think citizens
would be howling to get out of their homes or booking
groupons to anywhere or philosophizing along a continuum
that might present itself for a stroll into euphoria. Or luck.
I don’t know. We’re supposed to stay the course, stay
embodied, check out our personal and collective delusions.
I walked my Chihuahua at dawn and a shirtless archer
appeared around a corner with a Great Dane at his side.
We all froze and looked at one another in a kind of rose-
tinted astonishment. Then the Chihuahua growled low,
the archer laughed, and the whole moon vanished in the sun.about the author