mmmdlxxxvii

Something I Might Be Good At

                I feel as in bethlehem
     please police blotter
                 —Bernadette Mayer

At first there was only
dreamscape (from which
I’d escape or to which 

I’d escape, depending).

Either way, I’d wake
up with all of the an
swers to every prob
lem. The solutions,

so clear, would always
disappear. Where are
my answers? Where
did they go? I’d fran

tically wonder, fumb
ling around until I
could (And did! And
did!) make my way

back to the sleep,
and around and
back around the
cycle would go

with me slipping
like a ghost through
a stage’s lit scrim.
And so yet it goes,

it turns out, this
life, this endless
entering and exit
ing. But I am only

ever but moment
arily at the thresh
hold – and it’s only
when there that I

get but a glimpse
of what is. And
only from there
it would seem

could I (if only
I could) hurdle,
take off like a
rocket at what

might be (if
only). Already,
however, I’m
plumb through

the curtain and
anxious to curtsy
or bow – and what
a performance we

must have just
given! Succomb
ing to all the app
lause and ovation

the cyclical quest
is all but derailed.
Does this happen
each evening? I

grasp for some
meaning, Does
it happen each
morning? I’m

dizzy with quest
ioning when and
how. And it takes
me from one to

the other to find
out; to find it: my
room full of raptur
ous lovers, all over

(and over and over)
                    again.