Long Island Goodnight
I’m a tropical Capricorn
having been rinsed (a weird word)
of snow, too low to let mountaintops
powder my nose. You,
a green acre,
bewitching; I love you like jet black flint.
There are and there are and there are
a myriad mirror marathon reasons why
the millions exist: the first, a curl
the second, a sale
the third, a drum
the fourth, the fifth
the random mixed words
in a cockatiel cocktail, birdie.
Sing! Sing per sip, sing a song
of melted ice and debauched dancing,
debutchered lyrics and debaucherous debutantism.
Stoicize the drum
let it hit
snap snare
here and here and here (hear my ribs?)
and turn a steak into a toon tune
and turn up
this
turn up
this
turn up
this
turn up
until down is one option
and nothing else is
in our mountaintop lemon drop.
Sail away, Pyrenees! Let us sweat, Alps!
Only Olympus Mons will stop us now
as we sail away to our long island getaway
to say hello to Odysseus and all those others
unable to put down the lees they’re drinking life to.
If I hand you the keys, honey,
will you drive the comb? The hive
is so close, we are so close, you are my island.
| Christopher Keller |
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