Lozenge

Zeke Shomler

It was like those ants infected with fungus who suddenly feel compelled to thrust themselves to treetops and die a glorious death—

when she took a bite of hope, chewed it rubbery and felt it slide down her greedy throat, we quickly couldn’t recognize her.

She ran, first, out of the kitchen door to the back patio screaming about love and the future

stopping with both ears pointed upward at the moon and the meatiness of night, throwing off her shoes and clapping

them together rhythmically: God has sent himself to live and not to die, she screamed.

I have sent myself to close your eyes and obey the demands of cities not yet built.