“‘The Bed,’ She Said”
“The bed,” she said, “the bed!” So, comes another day
And so she sighs and says, “He only lives within his head!”
Of course, there’s a smörgåsbord of truth to what the lady says,
As through a medium, a vehicle come what may
To preordain what I must do today; declarations force the hand,
And I’m obliged to use a naked word or two in my defense
A little trouble to be sure, but nonetheless the recompense
Between what is and what most surely was; consistencies in sand;
Behind a cloud, and then again, another hour on yet another dune.
Yes! Ahead, perhaps, as broad imagination leaves its mark
I plunge through rushing waters, rolling rivers, and board the ancient ark
Upon a swelling sea beyond all starry streams although marooned
In my small room as fits a disaffected orphan here among the sycophants,
With thoughts, the width and length in heady musth, a simple elephant.