Paul sailed a crisp piece of toast
over a Land-O-Lakes sea,
stormed the Normandy kitchens
with a hollow handle master butter knife
and a jar of orange marmalade.
He navigated dime novels
and prestidigitators’ misdirections
to bring you a high wire
from below the fold.
Paul stood on one leg,
while he revealed
he replaced his stomach
with an unknotted birdcage,
a rainbow plumed parakeet on the swing.
The bird consumed nuggets
of traumatized wisdom passed down
from midnight voices heard
at the edge of dreams
and the clicks of opening pistachio shells.
Paul sat on the dictionary
hatching new words
the likes of which would label him
brilliant as a twenty watt bulb
instead of crazy like a lox smear on a bagel.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney