New one, post-Snarky Puppy

Nov. 22, 2009

The street sweepers scuffle like beetles, smiling-up the road in this sad-faced,

cloudy-eyed, crinkle-skinned little town.

I am outside and inside, outside and inside,

and shoveling snow in both places, feeling around in the dark, arms out like antennae, trying to learn my many faces, and, hark--

my house is a stuttering stumbling-ring,

filled with muttering mumbling things--

here is a vase, I hold it in my vice-grip,

want to fly to space, but afraid that I might trip.

So if I lie down in the street I'll be street-swept away,

the vases bookcases bed sheets just drop away,

let the beetles in my house up and carry me away,

catapult me via snowshovel into

outer space,

zero-gravity,

stars pitter-pattering--

the only real surround-sound.