By the guppy
Date: 22 February 2000
a wonder
syrup poured at 4 am over an empty plate
pretty sure you struck out, should dust it off, but the ump calls it safe
look up and try your best to pull focus on where that nonsense came from
and all you catch is a reminder
somebody got lost, then you got lost trying to find her
and you pull back just in time to notice your lifeline dangling
just out of reach
it gets you thinking that if you grew your nails out it might help that grasp
there is no time though
you can't alter what you are, and what you are is present, here, now
lay aside the adjectives for a second
kick off the judgements
look longingly into an overflowing half-empty glass
or a half-full one with a hole in the bottom
save up all your hard earned money and leave it as a tip
don't even look up as she pockets it
just pass by
looking down, and muttering to yourself "services provided"
it's not even a dark hour
this sky's not divided in portions of bright and black
not even close
your own disguise has you fooled into thinking
that with enough thinking, you might bring her back
as if someone is keeping track of it all
time's come though
keep it in cordial face-to-face
you might never be dancing with the belle of the ball
you might never taste romance from the glass you hold
no matter it's condition
you could hold the sweetest cider this side of the mississippi in your dixie cup
and the fool next to you with the smile
and the diamond-studded chalice filled with bile
is gonna take every fairy tale you ever knew,
and rearrange the words to fit the twelve-bar blues,
and try to sell them back to you as an original by a self-made professor of happiness
(unnoticed is the pile of sweet-and-low packets accumulating at his feet)
(also unnoticed are the voices of the singing stones he stepped on to get there)
you purge the thoughts about biblical misprints
that maybe the fake shall inherit the earth
or maybe the meek shall inherit the worst
or the geek shall inherit the curse
for the moment, you inherit the verse
those thoughts turn your eyes towards heaven
and you do pull focus
on stained ceiling tiles and a paddle fan
and a waitress brandishing a smile
and a pile of buttermilk pancakes
finally
a home for the syrup
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