perhaps you are out of town.
you don’t answer your calls.
the neighbors say you were seen reading Sartre.
there must be some mistake
the physics is all wrong.

was that you they dreamed?
even the clouds are confused.
this better not be the end of the book.

it’s time for lunch.
they’re serving spaghetti
again.

Yes, yes, we’re magicians… (Samuel Beckett)

come to terms
a rhino in the elevator

whistleblower!

         bread and wine
fat and drunk

        the jails are full of geniuses.

her mind was an occupational hazard
picked up in a thrift store
during a shopping spree on the outskirts
of ***** Gorda.

she had no idea how to wear the new projection
but trust
is a function of telomeres
and can’t be left to amateurs.

that was before the impulsive drive to Salina
to rethink her allergy to corn
which turned out
to be one of her worst ideas.

flying in the rain
her sobbing. me listening
to Cheb-i-Sabbah

thinking about something
    else.

today is a holiday
like others.

there may be asteroids.

bathing in secret pools.
mercury roiling.
the fragrance of lovers vaporous.
skin clinging to skin. fire in their eyes
sweet pain in the release
going over.

the gods in their limpid clemency feign truth
upon darkness maligned with them

even in throes of madness
melting at the core
they step from the waters and know the hour.

what is given cannot be broken
by gods or man
only death can pull them apart
and even then….

*angry in the cheat. clouds smearing them with spume
old gods defeated by one hard truth. their hearts surrendered.

studying a life-sized portrait
of Diogenes. holding a lantern. looking
for one honest man. surrounded by cows.
a horse.
a porcine drunk. a kid thumbing his nose.

the museum was closing in five minutes.
a shame.
because i had just arrived. (a strange statement.
"just arrived".)

a woman suddenly appeared. desperate
to look familiar. (black mascara. trench coat.
could have been a Russian spy.)

the light from Diogenes’ lantern
was touching her face.
illuminating her earrings.
something magnetic stood between us.
if she had burst
into song i would have melted.

“do you like dogs?”
her voice sounded like ice crystals
teasing a dark window.
(who doesn’t like dogs?)

Diogenes
was laughing. i could hear him
from across the canvass.
he knew
a good joke when he saw one coming.

a tiny light. in crystal arc
of night.
her butterscotch scent.
consuming. going under. trusting the future.
the sum of the parts
greater
than the lesser of two evils.

it’s all calculus. man.
that’s what she said.