a mannequin with wings
flew past my window
gliding softly
like a great
     soaring
          bird
and i stopped, listening
hoping
it would make another pass
so i could be sure i was not
after all
alone

People are like eggs
some get eaten

some break open, revealing
a beautiful, rich, and delicate
center

some lie in the nest
far too long
eventually taking up a dim
green
hue
and rotting slowly
from the inside

and some, against all odds
are held just right, warm
for the correct length of time
and hatch
into vibrating ***** of fuzz
that venture forth
into the cold
waiting
world

Now this galley's bound
for foreign ground
the sea's aswell with gold
so we'll ply our trade in ****** raid
and may the lanyards hold

And it's row men row
or the crack o' the whip will show

Now the pirate's life is full of strife
her belly's never full
so she's always quick
with knife or stick
to split a rich man's skull

And it's row men row
or the crack o' the whip will show

So the Roger flies for spying eyes
to let their weak hearts know
that Blackheart sails
among the whales
and her gold lies safe below

And it's row men row
or the crack o' the whip will show

coming to see you
i'll wear rat skins
stapled carefully
to my buttocks
nothing else
just fine pelts of waxy blue
rustling
as i walk

I am not well, she said
and like a rabbit on a lonely road
my heart froze

I see the eyes
dark on the horizon
that think they are unseen
smell the foul odors
of hopelessness and despair
that believe they are
unsmelled
hear the voices
hard and tight
against the wire fence
that trust they are silent
and unheard
feel the trembling fingers
in the night of my past
that assure themselves
they are unfelt
alone in this
yet hoping I am not
the only one,
she said

and into the surface
of that darkened road
the rabbit vanished

I see him
in fading breath of August
plaid pants black
socks
peddling his wooden
bicycle
along and over the cobbles

I swear it's hewn
from a single block
as is
he himself
with the stripes flying
across his tattooed
back
a hot rope
of light
pulling him along and
across
this page

the stone one
he says, passing,
was too
heavy

and out of the alpine mists
a lone figure appeared

well, not lone, entirely, for
upon its graying and wind-blown head
rested a yellowish straw-sewn bird (?)
of some kind
didn't really get, you know, a very good look at it
running, as i was, for my life
but i did hear
in heated passing
as through that shadowy figure
i seemed to slip:

there's a mountain up ahead
made of smoky black glass
stone magic
you can-

speak up, **** you, i rejoined
i can't hear very well through
these woolen and aged
ears

if you try, it returned, barely louder,
you can really
SEE
through the ****** thing
don't ask me how
it just works
have a look, you'll see
for YOURSELF
miles away you can make out
things adistant
from where you stand

and so, arriving
finally
at the foot of it i
tried, fool that i am
leaning in close and squinting
****** idiot though i felt myself
to be
for the rock was rock and
SOLID
dark mineral regular ordinary
ROCK
nice try, i thought, beginning
to turn away

but then
just then
it worked, by god, through
the smoky black stone
i could
SEE
sure enough
miles afar and years away
there
among trees and hills and
bee-laden flower heads
there
i saw

you