Fashions change daily now. We like it that way.
They are printed nightly, like newspapers.
It's not unusual to seethe dead
unfashionably dressed, unable
to get to the mall, embarrassing
the family.
Every once in a while,
a hollow ball of light explodes
over Alachua or Clearwater.
Those who have been there
say people are just standing around,
looking vaguely annoyed,
like loan officers.
The chameleons
have begun climbing the walls
by the hundreds. They love the pink sky,
have adjusted to it, matching its color.
From a distance, they look like fingers,
or tubers, twitching, pushing
their way upward.
A soft, isotopic rain
has begun falling over the next county.
There are low buildings there, like barracks,
or cloisters, where writings are kept.
Sometimes you'll see us there, down on
all fours, humming and swaying,
blurting out phrases.