Halcyon/Imbroglio
I give you permission
to rip these words up and toss them
in the garbage, with your toenails
and your expired cottage cheese.
I’m too confused to write coherently
as I consider the hot and sweaty picture show
associated with the imbroglio.
I was tied to the goddamn wall
with slimy duct tape and old lace.
There was a leaking pipe hanging above
my constrained, tight, passive body.
Sir Michael Caine- that’s what I called the pipe.
His bolts resembled the British actor because
I was blinking rather fast, in an imbroglio.
He said, “Some men just wanna
watch the world burn.”
Next came full-figured water droplets, sauntering out,
dripping from above as I took leave from blinking.
They wore bullet bras and sultry dresses,
ones that would make Jayne Mansfield blush.
Exposed and feminine droplets, together,
to become a thrashing sea.
Soon,
I was 23 years
underwater,
which doesn’t make
legitimate sense,
but does to me.
Ears popped.
Eyes blinked fast.
I kept living.
There was a television.
It also survived the water,
swimming before my eyes,
stalking me even when I tried
to shake away, and no,
it somehow managed
not to electrocute me,
but you know what,
I wished it would’ve.
Fox News
played on a loop.
My eyes blinked 67 times per minute.
2016, I was unzipped, ingressing
into an imbroglio…
connecting bottom and top eyelids,
convincing myself that the bird was out there,
with its black and blue and orange feathers.
A halcyon soaring in the sky that I couldn’t see
as a crazed Nemo, the clownfish,
consumed the duct tape and old lace
that had me.
I dived to
the bottom of the liquid depths,
or wherever I was all the time
I was blinking, blinking,
blinking rather fast.
Merpeople weren’t any better.
Ariel’s slut sister, Aquatta,
forged her finger in my eye
and Trident announced plans
to build a wall to keep “my kind” out.
And so now I blink fast with my one good eye,
faster than any physicist could ever fathom.
This will cause a second Big Bang.
Instead of an imbroglio unraveling,
like last time, everything will go white.
Whiter than the expired cottage cheese
that sits in your disgusting garbage can.
And then, hello. There they will be.
Feathers. Black and blue and orange.
Floating down to God knows where.