She is a copywriter
at a law firm, where

the men remind her of

the creepy guy in the
produce aisle, with a

head of iceberg lettuce,

leering at her, smiling
—as she contemplates

the bright blank screen.

An ode to
the broken

world, its
stories and

images
stretched

like taffy to
satisfy an

insatiable
sweet tooth.

As we know from
studying history,
there are four
essential
occupations—
rodeo clown,
shadow, pirate,
and facsimile,
and this revises

a previous
inventory which
included saint,
and saint is now
understood to be
simply an enhanced
facsimile of either
a rodeo clown,
shadow, or pirate.

The open sky
reflected on

the winding
river’s water,

and I slowly
pass by, an

undulating,
a rippling

image for a
brief moment.

Is there life
after death?

The better
question,

Is there life
before death?

empty dirt vista
I turn to her
she asks how did

we get here? I say
I think I’m asleep
dreaming she says

she thought that
too then a fierce
wind all is gray

dust the monkey
yells cut! he tells
the camera-man

they have captured
reality truly next
thing I know I’m

here face down in
the water washing
ashore on a sand-

bar she is fetal
naked the monkey
kneels over camera-

man’s corpse like an
alter-boy weeping
she yells shut-up

you ***** little ape!
the monkey howls
bites her leg she

crawls to one end
of the ******* I
to the other all is

water the monkey—
television actor now
director of acclaimed

historical dramas
lamenting camera-
man was the Da Vinci

of modernity I’m
thinking Da Vinci?
yeah the guy who

never finished
anything I ask how
did we get here?

she says she must
be asleep dreaming
I’m thinking yes that

must be all there
is to it—simply
asleep dreaming

Who is it that sits
on the cushion
on the floor, here
in the twilight,
during the final
hours of spring?