b o b    m a r c a c c i


[a man with a golden unicorn]

got asked

[a man floats]


                          a man with a golden unicorn
                                in one hand
                               a bag on one arm and a backpack
                                         walks in says
                  please can i have a cigaret please
                                   sets the unicorn on the table
                                              says this is mister unicorn

                                                    later on a woman
                                        with gold-coin earrings
                            takes a seat where earlier the unicorn had sat
                                                         drinks mint tea
                                           holds a book open
                                 with one hand
                                      with the other



got asked         

                       are you like one of those language-y poets
                         yes           i speak it
                        i think everyone talks poetry all the time anyway
                              another woman says on another evening
                                            green light illuminates us

                           no longer disguising our conversation
                        with our bodies
                             too weak to work a can-opener
                                   and inappropriate
                      it just goes spilling           slips
                                          the real meaning of what
                                     we’re speaking

                                   we know the other more
                              where one plunders
                          the axe of some dumb fuck
                      plunges wonders
                      dark bird off the dark
                               cloud-backed sky
                                      front of our lonely corkscrew
                                     unblinking needlelark 	



                                                 a man floats
               these legs are running                                    bang
                                      a lake
      a night without a moon
                        the eye begins to open

                                  where is the woman

                     here is a ridiculous bird                    memories
                                                                    a coffin 
                                     she does not know
                he curls up under the weight
                                                   she says
                                        he says
                      a snake is easier sometimes

                                            their legs there are waterfalls
                                                 ribbon blades
                                her beads will break
                                               this cold river


California Vacavillain presently living and writing in Putignano, Italy. Recent work has appeared in Mad Hatters' Review, abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz, Otoliths and zafusy among others. Host of i-outlaw at http://i-outlaw.blogspot.com/. Read more about Bob on his blog: http://marcacci.blogspot.com/.