Squirrels for Peace
I haven’t been wearing lavender shoes
long enough to know how to make
love fall from the air like an injured sparrow
I can reach only so far into the cereal box
and anyway hair has no discernible taste
today I’m merely differently sane today
I’m not sure how tall I am but do know
I require exactly two and one-third pillows
to go unnoticed in the snowstorm last
night syntax was fun but not as a party game
leaving through the window after the pause
just seemed like the right thing to do
all around the morning the air smelled
like ice cream which is why I was screaming.
Do You Hear a Harp?
In truth I was making up about the sweater vest
it wasn’t sewn of fireflies it wasn’t on fire even
I on the other hand have never been one
to return from the cloakroom with enough
contraband to pay for the window that broke
when I threw the grapefruit through it in truth
I didn’t actually move my lips in my mouth
the comparison to a salmon was inaccurate
I have a new avocado I am tired of all the dying
the wearing scarves the unnamed goats loitering
about in place of the furniture therefore I’ve
lain on you throughout a night made wholesome
by the window being open and talking
about soup it’s not easy to make so little sense
so near the mirror the eyes in it seem to follow
me wherever I move whether or not
I’m wearing a top hat it’s weird I admit but
I’m merely a belly-itcher who looks good
in velvet I am not qualified to answer
to only one syllable or to found a religion
with my hair I am here because you are dear.
Who Will Carry My Strawberry?
I’m only trying to situate the weather
nearer the weather vane. In order
of similarity to the monsoon:
a steady girl, a steady hand, a steady life.
I’m believing in you so you don’t have to.
I’m learning to play the double-crested cormorant
because the ocean’s been looking desperate
and moony these passing afternoons.
Armed with a finely appointed mustache,
I’ll enter the gentlemen’s club,
unshelf a book from the reading room,
calmly ingest its table of contents.
Then I’ll be worthy of the crown
of pamplemouse, the cereal bowl
of being upside down. But there I was,
alone in the bathroom stall, with only
my problems and an indelible photo.
I’m like this, I’ve said, attempting to kick
the sparrow that is never successfully kicked.
I’m like that, I’ve said, pointing to
the woman on the subway carrying
a strawberry on a small plate.
I’ve connected the dots on giraffes
maculate and not, yet parts of me insist
on posing the rain impossible questions.
So much I’ve wanted to be the one
in the top hat, instead of the one eating
the refrigerator box. But, oh! And, oh!
My head’s become stuck in a platypus’ burrow.
The platypus is waking up.