of course everything is fake
the stucco, the quadrangles mathematicians use,
my waterbed and her earthly contents
some of them are molecular in the ocean,
that is they are having their end of life
tune down in the circling north pacific gyre
but death is not kind, no one recycles bottle caps.
They swirl and swirl getting smaller and smaller
until their water bottle caps break up into
H2O sized water bottle caps and float
water bound Frisbee-like into the blood
of a my fatty tuna which I have ordered
at market price as the middle American
rubric of healthy fine dining.
And even as I bleed out from my eyes
because the membranes cant cohere
their edges flip flapping and slapping
over each other in a pyrotechnic
gashing of evolutionary pornography
I know my daughter’s yellow and red
slide and swing will live on into the next epoch
just as parts of us will remain
puddled around it in symbiotic cadences.