Puppet X, 5

by Jerry Ratch

A man learns too late 
How small deer laugh 
It's true 

When a man goes mad 
Ropes come down from the clouds 

He cannot be sure of anything 

The way's uncharmed 
He thinks someone else's strange thoughts 
And it all seems a simple trick 
Like someone standing all night 
On the back doorstep 

— The Sea of White Time 

— The wet sky 
(Which, said the pheasant 
Does exist) 

“Sleep will tell you 
A pretty green story “ 
O heart 
If you return... 

Or you're stuck in the traffic 
And giant butterflies 
Light on the fenders 
And stagger inside 
Your windows 
(And kiss the ones that live 
In that medieval way) 

The hopelessly married 
In their cars 
The nondescript of 
Every description 
The old and apologetic 

— They're all dead, mind you 

Their names departing 
From them and their children alike 

“And the butterflies don't 
Find too much delight 
In all the cold 
Familiar faces” 

The necessity of rules 
And jewels 
And matters of the chest... 

They would have lived simply, 
Given birth, 
And fallen back into the earth — 
If it had not been for the horror 
Of the passage... 

And at the same time 
The carrots are 
Kicking them in the ass 
“Have a good