Second day out of school
a squirrel monk
waddles on a telephone line
screeching matins
The plaster doll’s head,
an oracle, tells me,
“Beware the crazy lady,”
third house from the corner
Dandelion Huns
beg not to be slaughtered
but fall underneath
my imperial stick sword
Laying in the grass,
sunshine warming my face,
I watch parading ants
carry war dead
Angel fish choreographed
through a burst of dried fly
in the bubbling tank
leap to the light
General Low Growl,
one eye half shut,
broken lip sagging,
guards 47th & Mercier
A tree frog on assignment
questions a grasshopper
at the rusted entrance
of a drain pipe
I build a cemetery with
navy bean headstones
for rolly-pollies: next June,
a garden there
The throne at the peak
of the box elder tree
swirls and sways me
and bows to the grass
Elm trees form leafy tunnels
on Terrace Street through which
I pedal and pedal
until the wheels break free,
And let go and fly
free of my body
up to the constellations
for a crossing in Taurus
From the front porch I can see
the whole world,
its oceans, palm tree groves,
the streetlight moon
I hear surf against curbstones,
drums, a distant macaw,
strum flamenco on a shoebox,
my rubber band guitar
Then I weigh anchor, catch
the wind from dry leaves,
my arms for sails, and tack into
cooler waters towards Tahiti