The glass lay on its side like a drunk or a sleeper.
"I await my dream lover," it said, and I called the police.
One cop turned out to be the Right One and they jumped the nightstick the next day.
"I can't even get arrested in this town," I bitch to my spilled life.
It never says anything back.
I try staring it down but all I see is my reflection and every time it's a draw.
Art for art's sake, just like in the movies. Me in the role of me.
I plunge into my spilled life like a mermaid,
wearing it like a scaly tail. I sing to sailors and to other mermaids
such lovely songs that end in ruin. I am a chest bobbing on the surface,
a promise I can never keep to you or to myself,
a bright reflection in a dazzled eye,
a quicksilver tease of things rich with remove,
a luminous dying and deathless ephemera.
for Sunday Muse #216