Two a.m.

Some animal grew cathedral
out carcasses of Baroque;
     bloomed Gothic arms to pull heights
down—     down to frantic ribs
     —and draw fingers up to spires.

Come up high,     odd garden,
     to snort sacrifice(’s) smoke—     my
two o’clock eyes
fanned the billows.     Then,     get on
mon cancerous tempo(s) and riff,     riff.

Animal,     do you like the world
you’ve started?     The one I’ve brought up
big and strong with hours-so-late
and salt-aromas?     Let’s commit
this adolescent architecture

to determined form(s).     A dance
of mirroring moons,     of
monkey-see-monkey-do—      doppelgang
me,     cathedral!      Make that nave
follow my hips’ o’s,     that sepulcher

fall in ruts scooped out with jimmy arms,
     that choir trace the walls of my throat
and the cursives stuck there.     Spell them out:
     a j-o-b w-e-l-l d-o-n-e.     A reading,
     odd hours’ neon,     that robs sleep.

Costantino Toth (b. 1995) is a freshly-turned writer, having worked beforehand as a musician and sound artist. She currently resides in Sarasota, Florida where she works as a substitute teacher. In her off-time she chases moths (without harming them) with her sweet little cat named Romoletto.