First Year Fable
I tell a tale about tales. that he will he. wait in the soft armchair.
reminds me of the river. set up appropriate for a man & a woman. submersion is therapy for our condition. wresting inexplicably. white bone to wood bone. none of that iodine stench of the market.
elsewhere clothes make the boogeyman. elegantly attired. we don’t exist until we board the streetcar. not townspeople. there is no town. no grittier America.
recurrent bouts of nature are the hypothetical object. tuned to our woes.
windows crudely carved into the domed upper stories. twist of soil around the roots. off-stage. my arm in his. suddenly he seems taller. wearing expensive shoes.
& if the plot were ample
or in cahoots
I have cooed over a baby. I have worn voluminous skirts. I have danced in a strapless tutu. left all manner of things lying about. unsecured. to tour the garden.
child in the wings. flies up. fades away.
in the next act. my code is blue.
I can buy a child in P.
goons show up. shoot a gun at a target.
the tip of the match won’t extinguish.
visibility is safer for us.
words at the height of circumstances.
we are very, very sad.