Disguise your claims to sound impossible.
When you do, it will pay off bigger.
The planets will align, meandering
from their chaos, and everything will
turn out just like you wanted.
You pulled a fish hook through your fingers,
on accident, once. It bound them together
and you bled so much it ran all down
your arm. It was the red streaks the sun
makes across the sky just before
day becomes night or night becomes day.
You’re sure it has to be this way?
Locked in separate rooms passing
notes through the air at Hermes speeds.
You sabotage your basic needs
just a hopeless drifting nothing,
no one cares to even take a second look at.
Actually being here is a choice of attention,
it is a young couple staring at movie posters
discussing which to watch. I should warn
they aren’t always what you want.
They can be what you need though,
a bright image flickering in the dark
the closest thing to magic still around.
Teleporting Typewriter 