The TV screen shows the news…
A million termites run out,
frightened by the light.
In the chaos and the brine,
A sea anemone attaches itself to the bottom of the ship.
The captain is up above, lighting a cigar.
They both sail together.
I’m listening to headphones in a sound-proof room,
letting you read my thoughts like a book.
Watching you mouth out the words.
The orange I am eating is from Australia,
I think to myself that is a long way to go for an orange.
But who am I to question the modern world?
A car rumbles and roars out in the street.
The birds take off for the trees.
I want to tell them not to be scared,
but I don’t see any reason not to be.
“Why are you always so sad?” My dream girl asked me.
I told her, “because you don’t really exist.”
Air atoms swirl in the breeze.
Rust grows on the tailpipe.
Cell phones undulate on the tabletop.
Strippers shoot tiny plastic guns.
John Berryman killed himself for poetry.
Buddha sits quietly under a lotus tree.
My dream girl asked, “Is this a work of art
or caving in?”
I throw the pages into the air,
watch the wind ravish them,
words scattering like lotus.
“There is no difference.” I say.
Your blue eyes pierce mine.
I was lucky to look into them once.
I saw the ocean of possibility
disappear into the horizon
when your eyelids crushed down.
I hope to die wearing my tuxedo,
so you can drop me straight into my coffin
and dance, dance, dance at my wake.
The sparrows, the crows, the mockingbirds.
Fly. Fly. Fly.