because asking for directions is a cop-out

Five feet in front invisible,

As if the inquisitive iris of my

galaxy-orbiting

telescope could see

as far as her vision.

Bleak, grey skyfog, 300 feet up

Red brick           metal                blackclumped slush

filling holes in my shoes

            soaking socks and softly the

Saturn sets off for Sunset Street

I'd do unspeakable acts for a pet peacock,

so I sketch an antelope burying its face

into a Lion's stomach, blood trickling down

the antelope's mouth

and crusting on the Lion's mane

after the theta waves, a face contorts

legs sweat together    not five feet away

the lion lies, blood crusting his brown beard

i sing bob marley as

            my best friend carefully cautiously

                        creeps out the back door.

Wake to ghosts,

red eyes,

Legion,

black wings, singed hair.

The Lion shouts "JesusMaryJoseph"

so I recite the first chapter of Matthew,

            put an arrow through the heart of the constellation of Orion.

                        Next, I eat a guy for lunch

in a hot-dog eating contest.

Then,

stumble over my words, saying "incest were everywhere" and

            "insects is immoral and disgusting"

Until

the transparent greenblue clearing, steam rising from the pool, but

            in the shallows are cool countercurrents.

                                    The smell of crock pot pot roast.

                        White bed linens.        Blonde girls.                No Lions.