1

my new life tastes like
chicken
chicken reflected off a patent leather shoe

I’m Chairman Friday
a single shoehorn in the corporate sand
don’t step over

this line I say

ok but this time I mean it
now don’t step over this

other line
I’m at the threshold
of my new office
my new life

I throw something up into the new day
and it hits the wall

a light goes out
and the dark surrounds me
swart feathers rustling with the twinkle of stars

2

I sit under a tree
an apple falls from my raised arms
hits me in the head
itself a bony radiant apple, my brain
an enormous grey worm
twisted upon itself like a letter in the Book of Kells
a pile of rope
a chicken

3

in the dream
the ship was sinking
there was an Irishman
the Pope and three small children
I was the lifeboat doing my best

one of the children had a spike
sticking out of his head
he’d had it since the late Cretaceous
and now
he was jabbing it into my orange sides
the Pope, looking scared
rolled up into a tiny ball which
he flattened between his own hands and then
ate with a shrug
the Irishman split open
and dived inside himself

this leaves the three children and me
rapidly running out of air

4

in my old life
I was 90% salt
that’s all I remember
except for
my PIN number
my logon ID
the code for the automatic garage opener

and also this
I was jewel encrusted
the inside of my chest wide-open prairie
my heart
an inquisitive prairie dog with a college education

pure bliss when
I bent my knees
stuck my head in the refrigerator
white as the light of remarkable stars

on gleaming silver racks
the ingredients for a perfect life
for a sandwich the idea of which preceded
every element
except hydrogen and helium

after 15 billion years
the notion of ‘pickle’ reaches the earth
after another billion we understand the meaning of
‘deli-style’

90% salt
10% perspiration

5

Monday
today my new assistant walks in
covered in paper cuts

Tuesday
she stubs her toe on the computer monitor

Thursday
I don’t remember what happened yesterday

Friday
she has escaped
there is a chain of paperclips leading to the elevator

Saturday
I say to her you must
push a few buttons
in order to completely
escape
on an elevator

Sunday
we travel to M together
it looks like W
reflected in my shoes

we both undress
our skin pale
plucked chickens

in a nest of our own feathers
we cluck
our names Friday and
Ms Caruso
but call me Robin
she says
I always wanted to be
a bird
a flying star
a patient leather shoe