Bohemian madmen sipping donut-sprinkled coffee,
trapped in the bodies of teenage Catholic schoolgirls.
Kilts, knee socks, navy sweaters, peace & punk rock pins on pouchish-purses.
Heavy heads cramming knowledge, cramping style and clamping explosions, imploding in the process.
Eyes sealed shut with hot glue guns
in art classes held sitting Indian-style
in the middle of the streets of Rome
in the midst of a parade,
surrounded by the towering legs
of army men and flag-waving
popstars & cowboys,
doctors & lawyers.
Wives and children flittering in the air like confetti,
bright and colorful and
covering the ground.
Packing up the minivan with strait jackets in place;
studying so hard to win a special spot in space.
The poets watch incongruously with their cameras ’round their necks,
opening their mouths to laugh and spitting sawdust everywhere,
choking on the backwater
and the smog in the air,
dyeing their moth-wings black in an evolutionary experiment
because there was really no other option, under the circumstances.