if she tacks an inkjet print of a phoenix above her bed, don’t question it. if the phoenix is rising, don’t even look its way

underslept on an endless plane of terry cloth, overspread with the heat of an innocuous sun and the balm of truth, edges smoldering

a sky so full of birds it is more bird than sky. teeming, or, packed to the gills, a lake so full of fish it is more fish than lake. and the bats. on the land, infrared bison roam alongside swarms of echolocated people, very far away from bands of Friesian horses, known by satellite

silver flags billow against slate, chewing gum falls like a pebble from the teeth, clouds on blue punch furls of cherry, shoving tongue to the well, where the tooth is long gone, yellow gymnasts and chalk

Gone off that purple prose

you do a Niagara Falls barrel stunt to make rent, you gaze at the precise hair of the spiral mascara brush that caused the stye, the stye you don't mind

Jeopardy blue (or error), a case of the yips, kaolin and alabaster, and a splash of lemon