abracadabra

there’s a noise

in the alchemy of

the

countryside. there’s a beaker

                       of saltwater flush

as an

ocean. i can’t dance

             like a snake, so i slither

                                    in olfactory

                                    exhaustion and bite down hard.

the sun is a bright mountain

defy-

ing gravity: houdini with a smile. and

someone is

           waiting in the siberian traps with a demitasse of dna,

           ready to slurp: ready to

scald. and i am a clown

                               with my own nose

rid-

ing ponies like a surfboard.

a whine comes from a snowdrift,

adumbrates

                      a whisper, a snore, somnambulism that floats

like a ghost through

         basement windows. it could be the wind murmuring “presto”.

it could be the giggling of a pint-sized giant

                                                pulled from a hat.

but the only magic i’ve seen

is simply a hand

                    gun

fir-

ing backwards and a

                           cell phone that smokes.