Ragged robbins for the curtain call Wrapped in ribbons on the trailer door Carved initials in a concrete footstall On the imitation marble floor We’re the boxtop admissions and their throwaways, Strewn across tobacco roads With their wormwood shots and their snake oil plots Drunk sheepshank con men and their sycophants
And I often wonder if I've already died
Out at elbows by the encore But there’s a citadel inside Where I’ll go and shape my heart like yours, As you shape yours like mine Where we’re the spiraling arms of all galaxies And we’re the microscopic sand Suffering from delusions of ungrandeur on middling display Beside the Cardiff giant with the alabaster eyes
I often wonder if I've already died, Or if the 'I' is an unintelligible lie
Off we flew like swarms of hornets
'Woken up' from winter’s rest To colonize with plastic pulp
Our neighbor’s perfect paper nest While all year round potter wasp
Has buzzed her unhinged song You can hear its creaking in our floorboards