Ticker Tape

Straight as         is not how I’d sum you up

or this relationship
or the girl at the window

infected with butterflies.

 

Doorways seem crowded. A hipster’s rhapsody
squeezes in. Floors sag and the earth

digs its own hole.

Somebody is cooking pork
is peeling the make-up off apples.

The girl undresses/dresses        in full view

of individuals like me
who deliberately find windows worth returning to.

 

Butterflies      ticker-tape       vast blue spaces
lift us higher.
You lift us higher.

You have a set agenda
based on migrations          of what, who     and if.

What if the blue bird flies
Who will sit on the blue bird if it flies
If I sit on the blue bird where will it fly?

 

The earth selects indiscriminately

flocks of
herds of
schools of

               for its daily intake.

It sucks dry the old       spits them back         new.

Each morning I unwrap a perspective
but you won’t grab it.

 

Butterflies     ticker-tape amongst stars
reeling in their orbits.

The girl flirts with the crowd
pushing at her windows.          She dances

teases

flirts with the men
who bid highest for sections of her body.

An oven opens its legs to the blue
plumage of a disintegrating travelogue.

 

You inhabit the wardrobe of a mirror

being who you want to be
choosing from the racks of preferences.

Threadbare and angel-worn

you make the most of living ubiquitously.