Colors seem brighter.
You start to confuse your elbows
with your chin, your knees.
You find yourself robbing bodegas
during your lunch break.
Nightingales hover inches from your head
when you step outside. The bird shit
is difficult to get out of your hair,
though you try vinegar.
When you come home from a late night
at Bar None, an elephant is waiting
at the subway station to escort you home.
Every night, gods break into your bedroom.
You push away the swan, tie his neck into a knot.
You hide under the bed to get away
from the black bull, who gores
your hello kitty pillow.
Finally, you soak your underwear
in Raid to ward off
the stubborn stream of gold light
that pours in your window
like insistent neon.
In the morning you wake up
to the sound of the possible people
talking softly inside you.
You turn up your radio
to drown out the noise.
As you apply mascara
in the bathroom, your eyes slits,
a crow hops onto your shoulder,
and whispers, right here, now.--- From Saints & Cannibals
©2010 Plain View Press
Austin, Texas 78704