I Was Going to Say When Truth Broke In
I drank a cup of instant coffee at midnight.
While I drank there were bats hovering
the basement ceiling attached to flaccid
stalactites of meaning that yelped black growls.
I’m proud to say I didn’t touch them,
but if it came to be that they dripped
onto my forehead I wouldn’t know except
to have been blown to Bermuda.
I sat at a gathering of friends discussing
broken promises, then she walks right in
with a cast on her left foot, sucking a bright blue
popsicle and laughing when she falls face first
into the emergency exit and the alarms go off.
It was Mother Teresa after all. Someone asked me
to pronounce Copernican heliocentrism in French
and out my mouth came the giraffes I’d been hiding
since sixteen: a bear in hat, a startlingly demure
pack of clowns, and an emaciated lion followed
as they should.
The garland of dreams pulls from my head.
The wrecked wrens find it a suitable nest.
The tepid breeze finally smiles at it too.
A kind of liminality into jars fancifully mingles,
like the way cars snake through traffic,
how the heart manages the knowledge of mortality.
art by Collage al Infinito