Stunned Again

I'm full of bad ideas & nights of nothingness. The striking
blue of bargain-bin-glass-cleaner on my desk should catapult
me into something else. I'm so sorry; I'm still myself.
O vintage orange! O desk lamp! I'm the fool under
your light. I wish I was James Schuyler. I wish
all my high-fives went away. Talk about some dreams.
My heartbeat keeps happening—thank God. I looked
all around & I don't have names for the trees. Some clouds
made their shapes & language gleamed: All happenstance,
all everywhere. If I spit a stream of water, could
I too call that Self Portrait as Fountain? Could I wake early
& claim 6 a.m.? A tiger yawns—another mouth made of warning,
some entertainment whirring & sparking like an old plastic
toy gun. I'm hurdling at emergency speed into new
arrivals & departures, the geography absent of clean seas—
monsters & monsters, the secret of two faces
becoming a vase, a bicycle seat covered with bees. I'll unpack
the landscape & wait until the ceremony clicks.

Copyright © 2009 Matt Anserello All rights reserved
from Burnside Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission