Whose attention do I have? Isn’t
the internet great? I wish. And
I’ve had a few. Whatever I said.
When I said don’t look now, I meant
LOOK. There are infinite moments
in time, but how many do you have?
I’ve had some. Placated by the rose-
tinted glasses I wear at the back of
my head. I knew a man once who
could see through the coils of tufted
hair at the back of his head. Or not.
Once I felt so blessed that I stood
high above all of the rest. Over oceans
of foamy eyes. Could sketch the out-
lines of the lobes of every ear. I’ve been
there. Now I’m here, less blessed, I
must confess, than in other eras. But
who’s to know the truth? All the foam
dries up. The earlobes melt and get
washed downriver. Or up. Evaporate.
Or turn to dust like aerated bales of
hay. We poured the wine into the
massive tub and then we soaked in it
like it was brine until we were ready
to whet somebody else’s pursed grin.
I didn’t pause to scrutinize the bed of
lies. Instead I closed my eyes to the
infinite moments displayed in fast and
forward motion over the backs of my
lids like a dream of burnt celluloid
or a giant clock hung but not quite
centered on a massive silver screen.
That time’s not up is the surprise,
a happy ending’s no demise. I
tried to frown but felt so suddenly
elated that I kissed the breeze and
twirled around on tippie-toe a until I
felt a little dizzy. And then I fell into
the throes of a million more tomorrows
with no more sob stories. Not even one.
