by A.M. Broadous
It’s a risk, but I’ll choose banality.
I’ll lie on a hill and watch the clouds
drift along like dreams—nonsensical
and free. Armadillos, rocking horses,
Mothra, and Irish water spaniels.
Misshapen phalluses and Fu Manchu.
They have very little remorse for
interrupting my day, just like you.
Your vaporous visage trails behind,
a renegade cumulus that bears
the thin bridge of your nose, dimples,
your unfettered desire to float and keep
floating still, until what remains is only
the mist of memory. So, I’ll grab
two fistfuls of earth, stir my limbs
to a handstand, and rattle this world a little.
I’ll bring down the sky and everything
with it like loose pocket change. You’ll fall
to my orbit, and I’ll press you to my lips—
my lost dime, shining and found.