The giant squid doesn’t feel
so giant, at least not inside.
The cow says I have four stomachs
but no heart with which to digest your love.
This is a 17th century escape painting.
This is the beginning of my end-
oscopy and already I am healed.
Today I feel like a mosquito
falling through a remarkable rainstorm.
If not for the promise of a psychedelic
rainbow his little heart would explode.
I mean my heart. I mean who cares,
there’s never a rainbow around here
anyway. I have been trying very hard
to consider the window’s pane,
but life keeps occurring beyond it.
Two gangs who were firing .45s
at each other across our busy street
inadvertently shot a lady in the forehead.
We were shooting back semi-automatic
looks of disbelief and fear. Mostly fear.
All felons get to keep their first siren.
Some stow it away beneath a pillow
for good luck while others ask it to sing
often the fight song so they can remember
what it feels like to be wanted. Last night
the volcano dreamed it was an antique lampshade
and all the fire inside a warm light bulb.
Then it woke late and nearly leveled
a small village with very real and bright lava.
Close calls are still calls, says the telephone,
though nobody is ever on the other end
of the line. If you want to know why
he did it, go back to his childhood, they say,
to when he fell in love with the soft sound
of the local siren and the glowing helicopter
bird. We are like razorblades inside a quail egg.
Try not to forget the human hemisphere
of our brains. For ten of his sixteen years
he played football with an enlarged heart
but no one knew because all his hugs
looked like violent tackles on the videotapes.
I am so glad to be in this maximum
insecurity prison instead of the other one.