birthdaypoem: twentyfive

 

two bodies sit adjacent on route to Ocho Rios

one a mantis

one her prey

 

you are very pretty the prey says to a spot around her knees

and he means it, because she is 

 

you’re a freak the mantis says to the hole between his eyes

and she means it, because he is

 

the prey isn’t so much prey

as he is a set of concentric circles—

when self sloughs off self enough

you get the pool of being seen here

 

the mantis is in every way a mantis

and is delighting in that fact

she is very pretty

and she plans to eat him

 

 

*

 

when the horse you bet on has a heart attack

right before the finish line

is as good a time as any

to stop gambling

maybe your life just isn’t very good maybe

it’s not supposed to get any better

 

 

*

 

 

all the while it is you who is making this story

 

eating these words and passing them through the channels 

of your failures into song

 

the breaking and the cadence 

the disquiet of this close

 

all the while it is you who is lightning 

 

teetering on the pivot

between existence and illusion

 

if you were a fan you would have no moving parts

and you wouldn’t even whisper

 

you would just sit there—a pool between two deserts