Tangerine Moon

 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.