They are laughing in a tragic way.

I take up all the room in the river.

I bury a stone so you might lay your head upon it.

We attend a party where violins waltz, every table laid with bowls of cream.

No one keeps the time.

No one really cares about germs.

Everyone is wearing white and laying on the grass.

Soon you will discover how I always hide in public.

I fly around the attic drilling holes in your rafters.

Somehow I get stuck washing fruit for days.

Early in the morning, sunlight overcomes the porch with suggestion.

But a poem is not a gesture.

Today things will happen all around you.

I blink and arrive north of my apartment, turn my head
and sit at the mouth of a cave. I’m capable of folding
one moment into the next. Maybe I’m lying, but so what?
It’s good for the brain to be tumbled and confused.
Disappointment only works if the future persists.
Its conditions surround you, such as the possibility of bills
or the constancy of yellow. Everything strikes me
as important. My cat sleeps all day. I grow taller
at an alarming pace. Next door my neighbors have a baby,
they are harder to impress. The baby walks circles in the air,
is he amazing? You know the answer if you make a choice.
The last time I chose baby, creation was all taken care of.
What did I need with nouns? Everything was about to happen.
Press a stone to the windowsill. Create a single tragic mess.
Fight an animal for a patch of grass. No one told me these things
happened before. No one let slip the world moved
without my walking it. I loved only people worthy of love.
I stood on my own front lawn.

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