amalia negreponti

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Siloed Moon

The moon is ringed—tonight it looks like Saturn
in mourning.
Such nights we do not spin
allegory; it is too close for comfort.
Inside our lives, our online real lies,
we stay siloed within our circles,
streaming TV to watch
the myth of us, New York City.
Outside, the moon grows closer,
cast in rings of shadow
spilled from the water jar where a sad
painter cleans his brushes
obsessively.

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