Becoming Real on a Wednesday

as if suddenly while beguiling

a troop of cavaliers at the caravansary

you recall my secret name

Twenty-seven Needles Dancing

On the Palomino’s Trembling Flank

and you take your leave

discretely sneezing tiny syllables

while putting on a stranger’s faith

dancing lightly in the air of silent harps

as if you from my heart hear the sifting voice

the incorporeal incantation of Vallejo

gnawing inconsolable clouds in Mississippi

as if you see a troop of riderless horses 

trotting severally over a smuggishly banal

western horizon and holler hey!

where’s John Wayne wearing that Clive

Christian cologne smelling like itty-bitty hooves

galloping up and down my right thigh

as if to avoid an overly octovated entrance

you say I’m right here yo!

looking vaporously personal

plucking your Caparison guitar

whispering dryly resolute invitations

and I say for goodness sake listen to those

ghostly vowels on the skirt of Helen Mirren!

as if understanding the eyes of the elderly girl

she who wears a peach blossom hat and recently

returned from a silent fever

now offering her soul to an open oven

you offer me your hand finally for a change

as if tonight of all nights

we’re simply here together

wearing the happy heads of impossible fish

becoming as with all these beautiful things

real on a Wednesday