Natural History

I'm fully posable, a leather and clay creature
with the capacity to waltz and do the Twist.
My jaws unclench themselves. My eyes swing open.
The world is young, and I still have some years,
so I take out a patent on slow-moving fog.
Take out a patent on the hyacinth.
I brand the cow. Trademark the coelacanth:
its tiny heart is shaped like a straight tube.
However, the darkness keeps hitting
me over the head with its hammer.
I want to feel more substantial
than an elephant wearing a fez,
so I invent the Theory of Gravity,
so I discover my larynx and use it,
so I study yoga and learn how to wrap
my legs around my neck, but I keep finding
occasion to lie on the floor like a slug
or weep into the rented furniture,
so I invent the Gutenberg Bible,
so I invent the Bhagavad Gita,
so I invent the Etch-a-Sketch and draw
myself a lover with the right proportions,
we go on holiday and sit in traffic,
I do my best not to erase her, not to shake
things up. When we get lonely, we invent
the baby, a fully posable
leather and clay creature. It cries
like a small bird. We pose with it.
To never erase you, I carve your initials,
my lover, into the spine of a tree. You are happy
but then the tree dies. So I take out a patent
on the synthetic tree, and I carve
your initials, my lover, into its torso,
and take you to the disco and the roller derby
and to the waterfall beside the paper mill.
It's so amazing what we get to see.
The ruins extend across the valleys, toward each sea.

Copyright © 2009 Michael Dumanis All rights reserved
from Copper Nickel
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission