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Fred |
Shall I go and fetch the stars?
Shall I braid a necklace from grass or meteor trails?
Ask me anything.
Shall I fashion a belt from the Amazon or the Nile
or the Mississippi, whittle the buckle from a redwood tree,
crown you with the dawn and lay the light at your feet,
write a note for you on unlined paper?
Shall I sew your wounds shut? Should I remove the sutures?
Should I massage the stress from your back and your neck?
Shall I flood your house with rubies and emeralds,
should I paint your tongue with diamonds?
Shall I make a breakfast of omeletes and bacon,
shall I bring it to your room on a tray with some juice?
I can create a collage of gleanings from romantic films,
do all of them at once, while riding a unicycle backwards.
I can conduct an orchestra of wind through canyons,
a creaking chair, the sound of distant thunder.
I can tell you a symphony of silence or of drops of water
or of one thousand pink Chevy Novas, all starting at once.
I can sing you a song with a squeaking falsetto
I can trim the tips of your tears.
Labels: Fred
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