Theology of Moods

I.

one layer
of paint,
then another,
and another,
and another,
until I reach
the room’s center.

the moods perch in the soggy
just-gone glances in the still-wet corners.

II.

a boneset stem passes
through its leaves,
middle-stuck. datura’s sickly indole
lazes in the throat. wasn’t that prune juice
rebranded
as Plum Nectar?

III.

a frog can’t choose — it’s always semi-porous
and Superfunded by whoever’s green
god got kickbacks
three rainy seasons ago.
me, I’m always caught
mid-metamorph —

IV.

tell me again
about the planting of fig trees
on the vineyards,
to please away the birds
from the grapes.

ξ

Ari Moline is a writer and linguist based in Pittsburgh, PA.