I am the dead
woman slumped
against the shower

wall—don’t know
why, but I simply
stopped breathing,

and the water’s pelting
my face, as the dog
sits, staring at me,

as I recall how much
I hated my job,
all the politics, and

the dog is licking
my face, wondering
when I’m going to

go to the kitchen
and feed her, as my
husband is waking,

expecting his
breakfast to already
be on the table.

The Minister Of State
reads the speech
dictated by the toiling

titan of industry,
inventor of the gadget
that everyone needs,

while titan’s wife, the
Baroness, though
talented with an

umbrella and tweezers,
sits idly waiting for a
delivery from the

publicist, who works
into the long night,
crafting the narrative

that all of us fall
into, like the words
in this sentence.

I stood still and was a tree amid the wood,
Knowing the truth of things unseen before;
Of Daphne and the laurel bow
And that god-feasting couple old
that grew elm-oak amid the wold.
’Twas not until the gods had been
Kindly entreated, and been brought within
Unto the hearth of their heart’s home
That they might do this wonder thing;
Nathless I have been a tree amid the wood
And many a new thing understood
That was rank folly to my head before.

An old willow with hollow branches
slowly swayed his few high gright tendrils
and sang:

Love is a young green willow
shimmering at the bare wood’s edge.

The calliope plays
its jaunty tune.

A cow is on
fire. A drunken

entrepreneur shoots
an apple off the

head of a child.
A young woman

in the audience
is having a

****** fantasy.
A monkey juggles

beakers of volatile
chemicals. Soon this

carnival will be
bankrupt, but for

them another way of
life is unimaginable.