WAYS OF DEALING
Something came to mind this morning:
a pudding esplanade.
I laid on the couch, closed
my eyes, and saw it as an advertisement.
Later, manning the vacant horseshoe
supply shop I can’t help but
think of horseshoes.
Thoughts of famous Dutch hermits
who might’ve been frauds;
various memories in cardboard;
someone’s greasy thumbprints on
my Whopper; the vet’s cologne
a week later on the dog’s collar.
I close my eyes again…
she comes into my office.
She has a beautiful wooden ear.
I have heard about it.
Brush the hair from my eyes, I
have let a bowlcut get
out of hand.
Idea for Sigourney Weaver tombstone:
“You saw my panties in Alien.”
Back on the couch, my face in
the cushions, where I see myself
handling money, cautiously—
opening each bill and smoothing it flat
in the palm of my hand.
The bills smell like sharkskin,
shake like monster celebrity boobs.
You can’t leave it to me to describe your world.
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