Forty minutes: The fuck is going on?
All parts strewn, laid out like jigsaw pieces
and captured in the tired eye of the moon,
peeking through my window,
peaked,
leaving soon, leaving soon.
I shake a fist, curse,
nudge the contraption with a toe.
Nothing changes, no.
The moon sighs, casting me
a sidelong look; blankets the room
in earthly glow.
The lights have broke. Broken since long ago —
the last tenants would know.
Eyes squinted, I pick up a metal bar,
examine at the window.
Is this…
I think hard
…supposed to be here?
Suddenly, the bar goes down, and I alongside:
A captain and his ship-
Holding tight against the rolling tide.
An hour and fifteen: I swear, I can do this.
Been a while since the moon rose.
I grasp the instructions once again,
tentative, pensive,
force the words to my nose.
Inhale, breathe. Don’t panic.
But I’m too tired to read;
I let the page fall on my face.
And, I’m struck so close with the stickman’s pose.
Wait, that’s it!
Pictures show how this bullshit goes.
Page 1: screwdriver, screws, Allen key, bar and brace
The puzzle — I’ll make it fit.
And against the moon I race.
Three hours…?: I give up.
My objects of greed:
blanket and bed,
tumble endlessly in my head.
Maybe I’ll move — go elsewhere.
Scrolling infinitely through Craigslist,
pre-furnished is the word from a blessing;
meaning, my mother won’t need
to hide her disappointment
and keep me guessing.
Or maybe I’ll become a wanderer—
A traveller who uses a
backpack as a pillow, and the ground
as a cot, carrying all I’ve got,
and the domed stars my only
company aside from thought.
Three minutes later: Never too dramatic.
I think maybe the captain has drowned.
And on the moon’s brow:
a crown, and
a smugness across the lips. As it sinks and slips
outside the window.
I fall to my knees. Embrace the
phantasmagoric light. Arms spread wide —
I . . . I can’t go on.
The divine message intends to
take me for a fool; and
just like this, I think, I’ll die a tool.
Die as a piece of puzzle from this
godforsaken bed,
with unholy amounts of sea
in my head.
The morning: Alive?
On the floor, I yawn,
failed, unfinished,
and the bright moon gone.
About time I left
this shit to someone else, so
the captain can rest.
Finally.
