Notes

I left a note on your door
to tell you you were miserable.
Did you get it?
I went on to describe how I would
euthanize the milk in your refrigerator,
put your teeth in the electric chair, arrange
for the sea to be hanged.
Were you busy bathing in the dark?
You sexy little marionette.
Your cat had a parakeet in her mouth.
I count the toes
on this newly birthed night.

My suckling heart does not
believe in love.
Roses mate with elephants
and what’s born seems to
come out of the red curtain.
The turnip’s bashful soul
is acknowledged
by the president of bashful souls
and upon his grave, a heap
of gravel
in the shape of Samuel Becket’s head.