Dean Young
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It’s like Blueberry saying she’s a lake
and all people can do is dump in her
busted refrigerators.
No, it’s like you spend half your life kicking
the supports out from under stuff
to prove everything can float
and even though everything collapses,
So far, you say, so far.
No, it’s like you’re repeating yourself,
which is actually a bad copy of someone else
saying the world’s a dream
of someone who’s eaten nothing
but praying mantises for weeks.
No, the world’s a dream
of someone eating the world
then throwing half away because
a banquet’s not a banquet unless half’s thrown away.
Well maybe, but it’s also like you’re digging
in the garden and you hear screaming
then thank god you missed the baby rabbits!
Well, if you’re going to bring god in,
it’s like god wanted to hide you
only you got tired of waiting to be found
so you leapt into the garage light
and said Here I am
which scared the mignon out of everyone
because you are a wolf.
You know the deal.
How everything unlaces.
You have a halo.
Sometimes you trot into town to drink from swimming pools
even though you know it’s bad for you.
People misunderstand your smile.
Also lakes
and the inner flotation of all things.
Nothing is ever lost.
You can’t forget where you are
when you’re never anywhere
like a star. The star’s coloring book
is just like yours, the universe.
Almost none of the black crayon’s left.
People misunderstand black crayons
but put a baby rabbit in their mitts,
they’ll feel immense panic.
Maybe not right away
but soon and forever.

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