The Superhero Runs Out of Gas
| The highway project was stalled. In spite
of the money, in spite of the New Year. The engines were stopped. People just sat on their seats watching. “Just put it in the pile with our other attempts,” said the man in the black hat, which was another way of saying what the people had just said. Then the sun went by or the sun went by. Meanwhile, nothing looked as good as you did. People, when they looked at you they said, “Alors, this is my beautiful attempt, my dollar.” (They couldn’t decide which one you were.) They pointed at you and held you up to the light. They covered you in the ground. If they couldn’t see you, then they pointed at the sky. |
I see your love in a gold mine. I hear you
more and more. Crows in the wood. Castles. Why do you still want me? (Why do I still want you?) Here is a twenty, here is a thirty dollar bill for the pizza- man. When the delivery comes—just give it to him. Or: buy me some fries, buy me a soda. I’m going places. (All of them.) I’m three pennies twisted in your sides. I’m one and altogether. I have a night- barrier. I have promised. Where have the highwaymen put my shirt? (Why— are you one of them?) There are two sides to everything. The most important thing to remember is: I fixed you up, I put you in a dark suit. I wanted you to make it. |
With Soleil Moon Frye at the International House of Pancakes
| Artlessly vague. You’re a cynic.
Dream-doll in your pigtails and freckles, eye-liner and high-goth black lipstick (lipstick) you dress like an adult version of yourself. And I–I’m an adult version of myself too. Mannequin- man, accordion man, ostrich man with bionic suit and power tie. Now we’re both actual, paying customers. The waitress, when she sees us she says, let me begin by saying how nice it is to meet you. She brings us our plates. She hums into her apron, humming how much, how much will they give me? |
To paraphrase: the menu. Stuck under
the dandelion’s right foot. Houseling the glands and teeth and hair (and teenage wisdom) within us until the breath went out of us; we became human. Didn’t you feel it: swimming alone in the porch- light, camped out under the trees? Now there is an eerie glow where our eyes used to be. Now we’re zombies; now we’ve no heads. The real thought of a therapist isn’t helpful. Houdini? That park is thick with liars. And they are more brutish, more than happy to give us answers. No No. No No No. |