Giddy Once

The progress returns to manic chaos while the politicians stick to measuring moons with their hands, as voters
press buttons like grooms frightened of touching themselves still, unless they’re shouting about it,
be it up or down, the circumference of the moon, that surely isn’t floating? The theory
of matters slipping through fingers like spit in a canyon
forcibly aimed to both sting, wet,
and fill the gap: it’s possible? you ask? Honestly. You read one thing and share it—
putting it in your doll’s house—and several more come out: you never notice the room’s filling, flooding, only there’s a twinge of doubt
you must always cover up: out pop out
out sores. But you enjoy those videos of dogs on skateboards: what’s all that about? The cavalry approaching the front line being the thing that made us giddy once.