Sunday, March 16, 2008


If I stare at these goldfish
long enough, they will turn to gold.
When they turn to gold I will pluck them out
and I will polish them and I will sleep on them
for six weeks.
I will carve them and squeeze them
and fit them into my ears.
I will rise from my bedside table
and I shall dye my hair the color of clams
and I shall paint my cheeks
the color of coral reefs.
I shall climb outside my window and all the men
in Massachusettes will stop and sink and
nearly drown in my presence
and he who I wish to save from his puddle in the street
shall marry me whole heartedy.
But until then I sit in my bedroom
and I stare at these goldfish.
They swim circles in a silver bowl
and sometimes they project bubbles
from their mouths or from their tails.
But mostly they swim they swim and if I stare long enough
these goldfish will turn to gold.


Saturday, March 15, 2008

An Insomniac's Dream About Hope

It takes a lot of ink to sound like calligraphy,
Enough to pave the road to here and there and
Asymmetrically, reluctantly back. Following

A caramel moon canoeing in-and-out of clouds.
On twenty-seven more occasions I will swear I have never
Seen the moon that color.
The constellation Hercules push-pinned to the sky,
Safer than every airplane ever mistaken for something
Constantly fixed. Everything only constantly fixed to
Anything that ever got lost in the crease of a letter.

Every insecure without-teeth smile,
Every Lenten fish sandwich bought
To appease false security.
Dissymmetry personified:
In the lack of finding a fixed
Point to orbit around,
In the blame of
Interchangeable person-places,
Incongruence in the alignment
Of the reason that came before
The Reason.

Fate is an inversed factor tree,
Narrowing the margin for error
With every risk closer to purpose.


Wednesday, March 5, 2008


I have done something wrong
I know for my cheeks are the color of those roses
this wine these oils and fresh breads
I have done something wrong
I know for my eyes have begun to sag like saphire lily pads
and the shadows on my neck could rise up
and cloud the sky in darkness
I have done something wrong
I know for my lips are pursed and stitched
into tiny tulip buds
My shoulders have stiffened themselves like smokestacks
I have done something wrong
I know ths because I cannot look you in the eyes
I cannot watch your stern eyebrows
turned up like curled ribbon
and the lines upon your forehead
could leap up and circle my body twice
I know your lips are dipped in this tobacco spitting pose
and your nose your nose
twisted like knotted pantyhose
How can we dance
How can we begin to dance
When I hold this vinegar bottle inside my chest
and anytime I move
this liquid swishes it crashes it sickens my throat
And if we dance
this bottle might break
raking shards of glass upon my insides
and oh how it would smell it would smell
I have done something wrong
I know this for these roses have begun to droop
these oils have begun to stink
these breads have grown stale
and this wine this wine is just fine
how it has ripened so I drink I drink I drink

- jennswann