Thursday, February 21, 2013
A Fish-Tank Future
Eyes dry up after a certain age.
Sentimentalism is last century's appetite.
Tomorrow I plan to go senile
when visitors grow a price tag upon their heads
and I shall name them by the numbers.
One hundred thirty nine thousand
and nine hundred. Much better than proper nouns.
Hunched, I am covered in diamond dust,
never heeding the sounds of life
outside this aquarium. The gods keep me alive —
with their meteor showers and Halley comet surprises.
I just dance and dance to strawberry music
with yellow rose buds and the vines on the wall.
Slow Death hanging by my side, making me happiest.
Were I an aviator, I would be eternally etched
in your glassy heart, spilling it
with fizzy champagne greener than your eyes.
Thursday, February 21, 2013, 8:23 – 8:51 PM