Cities Lit By the Waning Moon
Many were nothing but hyperbole, founded on little more than a necklace of baby teeth or an archaic leather condom excavated from the desert. And yet, they are not unimportant. In one, the eyes of does are mined. Another is made entirely of a scaffolding used to pull stars out by their roots, a kind of urban renewal of the sky. They are always seen as if from a distance, always vaguely European
in name, things like Eustice or Salemica or Adil. A sclera-hued glare shines from their windows at night. The smallest of these municipalities is named Tesra. In it, as you read this, a tar-haired adolescent dangles her legs over the rim of a well, knocking loose the silt from her heels. And tomorrow, the residents of Bacona, Oregon will notice something off in the taste of their water.