Last Days of the Surreal

Inside the open cages, only dead canaries sing,
Not turnips or virgins, and no longer in French.

Was it Orpheus or Heisenberg who said: We lose
Whatever we look at? From the fun house mirrors,
An old man stares back, plaid shirt buttoned to the neck,
Everything bent awry by the warp-speed of light.

Now, after my voice has left me for some dreamier mind,
And with the final papers of separation already filed,
I sleep each night with silence, and call it love.

Copyright © 2006 Elton Glaser All rights reserved
from 5AM
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission