By Annette Hakiel
the moon blisters with the notion
of meaning that isn’t there.
this is, thankfully, ridiculous.
apply significance to events that didn’t take place.
apple of my eye, i’m in love with a man that doesn’t exist.
the stairs creak with his absence.
you heard it. you heard
me right.
i’m a small-hearted sinner,
the billy goat of dispair howling at the moon.
this is, thankfully, ridiculous.
i’m a dilettante to a life
that is not my own. i’m the bursting shadow
of a popped balloon of the
saddest clown on earth.
you heard me, you hurt me
good.
let’s all go to the lobby
or i’ll slap you one. you’re a hologram of a houdini.
this is, thankfully, ridiculous.
i’m a foot in the doorway of heaven.
i’m instruction manual in mandarin to a
defunct and outmoded 8-track.
i don’t know what the hell i’m talking about
or what you’ve heard. hopefully
it’s all good things. i could go on.
dear me. pass the popcorn. this one’s
for my homies. this one’s good i hear.
it is, thankfully, ridiculous
but worth mentioning. this has
gone on far too long. my worst mistake
was recognizing myself
in the mirror when i woke up this morning.
Clutching at Straws 