imagine the sunset through a skull
how the flesh of another horizon
stains the used canvas of bone
if even dead pigeons be doves
and if those doves balance a precarious peace
between the soft muscles of their wings
if mice live in the walls we build
& cockroaches roam unchecked in the night
like sleeper cells arriving in a stream of greyhound
if the air is legislated
if wisdom means what gets the most hits
if capitalism is no more than a wind-up toy that keeps running into the wall
if you can be arrested for using the wrong restroom
then how, tell me
(it's not a rhetorical question)
how will i ever learn how to dance?
how will i know myself in a mirror?
how will i ever get bigger than jesus?
how will i ever get small enough to fit in a shoebox?
or a shoe
or whatever is expected
imagine, the sunset
pink like death
imagine, i used to fit inside this skull.
-March 28, 2009.
Tucson, Ariz.
all rights reserved.
