the owls
are sifting us
softly tonight & that straw
hat you wear is a map of the
lost loves that plague your sleep leaving you
cold in a closet
& oh that cotton rag placed squarely on my
shoulders will embalm me in green vinyl at
the end of the feast
of pumpkins
goldleaf & aluminumtooth pinned to his
madcap bubblegum & his entrance at
heaven’s gate will be delayed as he gets
closer to his heart’s desire
(& the owls are circling
& the owls are circling)
in the garden of patchwork elephants she glows twice
nice in blue & silver &
stain & her paper lungs will
burst when she dances a
secret samba
–& I remember when i was a kid
a nomad squirrel in oceanic blue stuck
in the same cartoon running
’round a tigertorn map with flickering cinema eyes–
(& the owls are circling
& the owls are circling)
& the empire will rust
& ruin before our bonfires burst in
sizzling grey chalk drawings
on the palms of the secret yellow
king an invitation to the carnival
of lights sealed in
streetlights painted by cabalistic janitors
(& the owls are circling
& the owls are circling)
& nothing
nothing is what it seems
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