The animals need no love.
Weather is always adept to fornication.
Mother’s breastfeeding milk never rises.
When do crickets have time to dance?
Plant specimens grow faster than human specimens.
They shake and grind at the first sight of trouble.
Where do the stars hide during the day?
Does the moon ever really cry?
Every core of burning meteor someday grows cold.
Where does the butterfly buy color?
There is no vault.
There is no permanence, anywhere.
Ever.
I once met an old man without a face.
His body was no longer his own.
It had molten into another cocoon.
He was forever trapped in his own shell of gold.
He was always trying to take someone else’s face.
He was a man of many faces. He was two-faced.
He wasn’t a man.
No one called him for advice.
He never needed makeup. He was ugly.
His gold cocoon kept him happy.
He would spin webs of gold around everything he ever wanted.
He had the finest cars, beautiful women, boats, planes, castles and armies.
He would spin webs of gold around all of them.
He had no silver. His cocoon was hollow.
One day his web ran dry.
He couldn’t save face.
He died.
His cocoon shrivelled up and melted after the first rain.
His gold ran back into the rivers and buried itself deep in the Earth.
No one ever remembered him ever again.
His children became butterflies and flew away.
Butterflies without any color.
The crickets had no time to dance.
The moon cried that day.
Every mother’s milk began to rise.
A bright green meteor fell to Earth with a tail of gold.
Two worms fornicated in the rain.
And the stars came out at night.
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11-11-15
THE CIRCUS . . . . . . . . . AND THE ZOO 