The plump pundit laughs with teeth of
green jello, confiscated from fat fingers
of an ocean saint. Small sprays
of fear, enticing as Lorelei’s lullaby
to a deaf-mute porcupine. Before
the gift of lettuce: the empty cage
of a man’s rattling heart, the purple
paws of an empty dinosaur costume, torn
from the needy child winter forgot.
I am Boca Raton. See—my palms
like candied yams, a small Thanksgiving.
My words are hieroglyphs painted
as a coquette’s face, a talisman
held close to the chest. Share
your splintered wooden soul, I hunger like
the prowling: lean-flanked, alone,
rheumy, fleshy, all mutton and eyes.
He laughs over his clipboard, gums
diseased as quashed revolution, screaming—
the tune of mermaids harpooned.