the twilight sky is grape-dark beyond the living room glass:
chemtrails perforate the fading
crimson of dusk.
Clicking the blue hyperlink, I feel various —
the web spins like a top
as I hunt down
the ungraspable yarn
Baudelaire would’ve had a fit at this —
inclinations pulled taut
over some fuzz-ended URL.
Outside the evening clenches.
trees whisper conspiratorially
as a gargoyle face gathers in the platinum moon.