Pitch by Sam Lohmann

All this brain coral cloud curdle
doubles as emotional real estate
the way I turn it around
in the bleached anti-epistemological 12 noon light
and I could cut you a deal.
It’s varnished driftwood and cornflake bones
scraped over a layer of scarcity studies,
or it’s a bluish watermark
in your FBI file.
It’s what somebody who’s never been to New England
thinks the trees do to the clouds there,
or a smoke screen for social practice
art, or just wall-to-wall walls.
The important thing is
once it starts to thicken up
stay with it, keep staring till
you think you’ll fall in.
It’s not therapeutic, it’s like a light snow
and a white lie, could you live in it.
And here I am practically giving it to you.
The margins go for miles out here.