The circus left town for fifty years,
Moon rose over the river filled with dead fish.
Our lips touched under the bridge, my fingers reeked of gasoline
Drifting off into the city streets, hot dog stand cooking up till 3am.
The clock struck past the black cat’s ear
And the trees fucked the wind.
Red and blue sirens filled up the street,
The blue eye in the sky curled up along the freeway,
Speeding cars zoomed by and gazed at the dead body being pulled into the ambulance
And the brown leaves fell like an old man’s wheelchair.
Who is more insane?
The guy talking to himself on the street
Or the zoo rat at the therapist.

A mouse crawled on my face as I put flowers on her grave,
The lady who drove a motorcycle died in a car crash last week
She ate beans and lifted weights.
Her golden hair soared above violin buildings
And her arms filled up with tattoos.
She rode that motorcycle like a criminal escaping jail,
Speeding down highways
Cutting in front of honking cars.
I met her at a restaurant,
She ate fish and drank coffee.
Her teeth yellow like eggs
A huge scar ran across her face.
The lady who drove a motorcycle sat on park benches
And she whistled at the flying birds.
She taught a dog how to bark in Spanish
And taught a cat how to meow in Chinese.
There is no age in wisdom,
The old woman and the boy are best friends.
What he thinks, she knows,
His insanity is her wisdom.
What he hates about himself, she loves.

by Robin Wyatt Dunn, with Perchance                             

Maceo Nightingale lives in California with his pet fish.