All we got, mister,
Is an empty bowl and a spoon
For you to slurp
Great mouthfuls of nothing,
And make it sound like
A thick, dark soup youâre eating,
Steaming hot
Out of the empty bowl.
Carrying a fresh litter of them
In pockets of his overcoat
As he meanders down the street,
Letting a kitten loose here and there
To run free as a warning to me
And to everyone else in sight,
While donning his dark glasses,
Hoping not to be recognized
Entering a flower shop to buy flowers
For one or two upcoming funerals.
The same snowflake
Kept falling out of the gray sky
All afternoon,
Falling and falling
And picking itself up
Off the ground,
To fall again,
But now more surreptitiously,
More carefully
As night strolled over
To see whatâs up.
O Spring, if I were to face a firing squad
On a day like this, Iâd wear
One of your roadside flowers
Behind my ear, lift my chin high
Like a pastry cook standing
Next to a prize-winning wedding cake,
Smile like a hairdresser
Giving Cameron Diaz a shampoo.
Lovely day, you passed through town
Like a Mardi Gras parade
With ladies wearing colorful plumage on their heads
Riding on your floats,
Leaving the moon in the sky
To be our night watchman and check with its lantern
On every last patch of snow
That may be hiding in the woods.
Iâm the uncrowned king of the insomniacs
Who still fights his ghosts with a sword,
A student of ceilings and closed doors,
Making bets two plus two is not always four.
A merry old soul playing the accordion
On the graveyard shift in the morgue.
A fly escaped from a head of a madman,
Taking a rest on the wall next to his head.
Descendant of village priests and blacksmiths:
A grudging stage assistant of two
Renowned and invisible master illusionists,
One called God, the other Devil, assuming, of course,
Iâm the person I represent myself to be.
Small store, is it only cobwebs
And shadows you sell?
I saw my pale reflection
In your dimmed-out interior
Like a gentleman burglar
Unable to make up his mind
Between a pearl necklace
And an antique clock on the wall.
Raindrops blurred the rest,
Trickling down the glass
I pressed my forehead against
As if to cool down its fevers.
Have you introduced yourself to yourself
The way a visitor at your door would?
Have you found a seat in your room
For every one of your wayward selves
To withdraw into their own thoughts
Or stare into space as if it were a mirror?
Do you have a match you can light
To make their shadows dance on the wall
Or float dream-like on the ceiling
The way leaves do on summer afternoons,
Before they take their bow and the curtain drops
As the match burns down t...