Faye Yan Zhang
the avenue throws flat teeth at the moon:
in the evening a single sided coin, indicating roundness,
a tangerine phosphorescing in plastic bag.
it is bagged, the moon, and the woman
sighs against her crescent toed shoes
while a thunderous shadow of teeth
afflict the pitted moon, which the woman
keeps in a pocket to save for the afternoon,
swallowing pieces, spitting seeds.
the artillery of the street batters her ears,
hums against the weight of her tangerine
and her moon, chatters her teeth, bears her heels
along the flat avenue, which carries shreds
of a confetti donkey lately bursted
with chocolate coins papering the streets
like dimes of gold leaf. she can feel
her feet taking root, the artillery of cars
pushing through the drums of her ears.
she will become a gold statue, a daughter
of midas, frozen throwing arm in midair
to try and send some part of her self to the moon.