Category: Book o’ Verse

in his red and black
“Incredibles” pajamas
with his arms propped
behind his head like
a catapult on safety.
His face is a bass note,
calm and confident
as if to say:
“I’m a super hero. And a bass note. I’m a catapult.
And I’ve got plots and plans aplenty.”

You’re not the only one made uncomfortable
by these lens flares
twin pipes
that threaten, curl,
and shine.
They can wrench the wind out of a room.
Catch 5 quarters in mid-air. Each.
And when they sneeze
you turn away to miss a flash
against the back of that
prairie thunderstorm
cow skull.

At the coffee shop
a man long past down on his luck
head resting on a piece of paper
pen in one hand
but no words on the sheet.
Just 60 or 70 short lines
twitched in all directions.
A swarm of
“I mean no harm”
hand motions
for him to sleep inside.

After a while
they wanted to get so used to it
they’d have
a different word for each kind of rain
say, one for fine-pointed rain
that comes down
light and silky
one for thick drops where the rain is thick no matter
how few drops fall.
And then on a turn, the end of rain
and a kind of
sunlight showed up
that was also fine-pointed.
Or maybe shy. Loud yawning? It was
sunny that day.
All the puddles
preparing to hibernate.

I am inclined seaward.
Tilted at my desk
with my hair
saltwater soaked.
Seaweed, of course.
There’s a mussel in each ear.
and a starfish sucking on my nose.
Five equal segments hath the starfish.
No heart, nor brain, nor eyes.
And yet I find
its tube feet
with their remarkable vascular system
dragging me off into the deep.

Bladed stars
shuriken with bright black tips
spread out wide against soft cassis cardboard like bats
behind a glass case.
I’m shopping from a safe distance.
Five feet back, where the merchant
can’t catch my breath.
Ten minutes or so and
now my sneakers have set
into the muddy tire treads of this rained out road.
The morning’s bagel keeps me warm.
I’m not really shopping.
Just standing still.
Bladed stars, grant me ninja speed.
Focus.
Precision.

He said “ta da”
because he wanted them to spot
the magic. The unicorn and its twisting horn.
The wand and its wand rainbows
all spark to celebrate
that spreadsheet.

I used to be an otter.
Now I’m mostly.
Mostly just.
Odder.

Today was another important
lost opportunity
Another day when I didn’t seek an audience
with the skeptical colonel —
confront him with my passion.
“Colonel, soon these oceans will run dry!”
“Soon the humps of humpback whales will be revealed
and all sorts of unknown sea creatures
will flop about squinting in shallow pools!”
“Colonel, for once in your damn life…”
He arches a brow. My hair’s gone insane.
“…can you not be so
dangblasted
skeptical?”

It’s the smiley that really breaks my heart
the little happy face you
tack on
right after you break goodbye, say the news, share that thing.
You’re happy. And I’m glad for it.
But where is your nose?
Now who will save
your missing nose?