Illusion Comique

I was a pupil in a school for the eternally blind
In a classroom without walls. Rain hit the empty streets.
Socrates cut his hair with rusty scissors
And handed out the strands to passersby.
Marcel Proust tapped away at a broken typewriter.

I worked hard. I clapped the erasers,
Wiped the Braille graffiti from the blackboard.
I moonlighted as a corporate fat cat
And a crooked cop...I had a dream
The moon was only a fraction of its size

--And then it was day: like muted trumpets
In a low register the language of pigeons,
The rain around their feet eddying fast
Into drains, the sun offering red statements
Between breaths of cloud in the summer sky.

back to index