November 30, 2021

THE MYSTIC’S MISTAKES

It wasn’t until we left the casino
that I began Begging Lessons. Even

now, my lips won’t speak to each other.
Trying to decide on sole or flounder.

The harbor sloshes in pearly galoshes.
The air, thick. The bathroom door sticks.

Tuesday relaxes in its smoking jacket.
Giving fire a haircut.

Listening to “The Cuckoo” by Respighi,
I depend on winks from the Sphinx.

All the chimaera dance to my tune
in their pursuit of the present.

Let us be measured by devotion.
NO VACANCY fills our vision.

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