I’m as busy as a cat covering it up
today. This month is for scleroderma,
for the red spots in your eyes
where the light breaks. For deploying airbags,
for something famous happening west of here.
I am smartly dressed. In the right city
you can find bicycle wheels for the taking.
This morning is white like no other.
A man behind you is singing and I hate the air
around him, how it suddenly seems unbundled
and driven with spikes. By the time he’s hit
the high notes I can’t feel my hands.
I want to be in a planetarium without threat
of extinction. I want all the variations
you can think of from Paganini. I am going to
wake up after blacking out and see your small face,
your little jacket. I am going to buy a house
using only a very small down payment.
I am going to find and can all of the figs.


To learn more about Gale M. Thompson, visit her blog Question of Comets.