Slalom Through the Crossing

In dreams I see caribou,
stone faced serious with
rowdy black hearts, too
exhausted from sickness to
concentrate on confusion.

You wake up scared twice,
see red lights, ask me if
everything is still okay,
beat your leg through the
blanket as disgusting and
though I did not love you.

So I speak about the owls
in the room and the prince
who enters and asks advice.
A large, flat owl on the wall
tells the truth with a "hoot!"
and a small, round owl in the
box with a "hoot hoot hoot"
sounds comforting too.

We work hard for nothing, slum
for the next big gamble to come,
accept what's worthless in us,
the filth in our hovel, prove
something about our nothings.
Flocks and herds of caribou
traveling much of the time,
eating only when they stop.

You ask the bookshelf owl
how best to get comfortable,
hear only "hoot hoot hoot."
So next the mirror owl who
grabs hold and says "hoot!"
Then turn back against me
and fall right away.


2011