Horizon lit by flickers of a Taco Bell sign.
Magenta and navy hues seep into my face.
The lowest fragment of midnight.
I wonder if these unworshipped grounds
gain as much attention in the lantern of day.
With the flick of my disjointed wrist,
Taco Bell becomes a sideshow of witching hour.
I take hold of those fluorescent light pillars
and steer that Taco Bell to the galaxy’s edge.
I meet moon sirens adorned in lace.
I fill their vacant craters with dripping cheese sauce.
They bow to the brimming cavity,
slurping the golden liquid by the palms of their hands;
it drips down their diamond-dusted cheeks.
I leave crumbs of tortilla shells
to always fuel their chime shaped
Each revolution, they hunt for Doritos and beef;
gathering on dusk’s cusp,
screeching like wounded warriors.
They swim through lunar tides with swords,
whose points mimicked forks.
They rise from milky waters,
looking toward earth’s crusted eyelids.
Meanwhile, magenta and navy hues
seeped into the back of their sugared hair.