Ars Poetica #40
(the Worst Case Scenario Version)
And then everything pressed the eject button.
I dreamed bookcases collapsing like exhausted
sherpas. I dreamed a hernia, kidney stones
and a weeklong trip with the oven on broil.
I dreamed the terrible weight of suitcases
and airline fees; fire and folk remedies
that led to new afflictions. I dreamed beetles
in surgical masks beating the windowpanes
while we spooned on a bed of concrete
and conspiracy theories. I dreamed
the Portuguese Water Dog that betrayed
the whole academy. I dreamed a media frenzy.
Camera crews arrived. Buses arrived.
I barked and got excited.
I dreamed all the pieces of silverware
I stole from fine restaurants in the 90s
flying back to their 77 rightful drawers
with incriminating stories. I dreamed
the burnished weight of soupspoons
that anchored me to subway poles
and bus seats when you were just a wish
I recited to a floor lamp in the ugliest
borough of a city. I wrote letters
and ate words with my fingers,
as a fugitive should. I believed you’d
listen to me if only the music changed.
When I woke, it was the afternoon
of the eclipse and no one remembered
my name. When I woke, I went to the roof
and banged the pots and pans
to scare myself back into myself.about the author