They say they found me in frozen foods, stretched out
in the cephalopod case, rowing the air

praising the canned corn moon, as a boy I hung
from a cherry limb listening to ballgames

on the transistor under your pillow, a blonde spider,
grief skin, lieben, sunlit orb weaver quitting

amen corners to run over wallpaper like a left hand
crawling through Ravel, hunting for missing limbs

a breast, suddenly, in my cell phone's screen, my eyes
climbed from her nipple to her wrist her arm face

and I rose with her body to exit the Kiang train
at the wrong station, broken by afternoon light

in a dim bar I drank beer and gazed at a pig
somehow deflating in a jar a brine, when we met

I was too shy to speak, so I wrote a note
and placed it with a caterpillar in a bottle

thrown into the ocean for an octopus
to find and open and raise the chrysalis

to butterfly to the spring air to lick her ear.
Put on your clothes! The producer said to the cast:

We're shutting down- kaput ! Kaput ! Kaput !
After my wife's death-complying flight

from the cannon barrel into the lion's mouth
the clown car arrived at our front door

and they rolled out, with floppy shoes and red dicks
for noses, with sprays of squirting flowers

I fell asheep counting fools, as they rolled out,
too broken to sleep I steered the bus around

the rotary as Keanu cradled me
in his arms and little suns took our measurements.