Wake Up Call
After waking up,
the triceratops impales you.
And all that’s left
are the inflatable soldiers leaping through the lawn.
At such high speeds, what can they really know!
The triceratops impales you in the morning light
and when you wake up
there isn’t anything left to cry about.
A single, thick horn
sinks straight
into your body.
The pigeons laugh their songs on telephone wires.
The dogs scamper through the yard, licking your dying face.
You become a cannonball. You become
the highest castle in the cemetery.
Won’t you lead the dead!
Won’t you tell them the tale of your hurricane heart?
Let the dying needles of pines swarm the air
and let the triceratops impale you
forever: until this day has come to an end.
Until the muck in the forest unclogs itself.
You must sneak this horn into the heart of a man,
into the heart of man. You must promise
the tranquilizer is empty and crushed.
You must feel the eloping moon and sun. Feel those lunar
and solar rays graze your cheeks.
Won’t they just come inside!
Won’t they leap through the cells! Leap into you!
The triceratops impales you
and you are the army of one.
You are the single tune that tells the bear and her cubs
that the forest is about to become fire.
You are the forest burning to its native skeleton.
