the mountains seemed very anxious this morning
someone keeps asking the same question
did he always
wasn’t he a child once
or maybe he was a music box
& did god have dreams of being a father, a doctor, a fireman?
i hung myself in the closet
the rats kept me company
inside a groan where i have left her tears
i drew pictures
you consulted gods and roses
it’s easier to stay unaccounted for
the birds migrate north and south
& i’ve been facing this corner of my wall for years
wracked by the misery of my failures
meanwhile you shifted in your sleep
dreampt sweet dreams, spectres of dali’s melting clocks
because who really knows the time
who really needs the time
fascinating that these words appear so suddenly
so sullenly
i want to be with those birds you dream of,
caught in the oneiric spiderweb
& summer comes and goes like an old friend you’ve
already forgotten the name of:
good night, cinderella.