The Problem about Zoos

there’s a bluebird in my lungs that pleas
for a Marlboro, but I quit smoking
one year ago. I beg,
stop chirping so loud,
I’m not going
to let you
die.
there’s a bluebird in my lungs that also sings for a joint,
instead I carry an electronic cigarette,
inhaling water vapor truce, so that he hides
from the workers, boss
and cops, so they’ll never know
he’s in there.

there’s a raven on my left thigh that’s tattooed
on skin, but I’m more permanent than him.
I’d cut off his legs,so he doesn’t claw my eyes,
but would he want to claw my eyes?
I ask,
do you want to drive me to work?
do you want
to scribble down
teacher’s notes?
there’s a raven on my left thigh that’s tattooed
next to a portrait of Poe, and
Poe shifts side-eyed to acknowledge
raven’s stare. I say,
this is why you can’t be my eyes,
you’re too busy
stripping Poe down
to bones.

there’s a cobra on my tongue that wants to hiss
my words, but I silence him by feeding
him mice, but I’m too afraid he’ll bite
my lip, so I let him curse my enemies
and kiss my grandma.
there’s a cobra on my tongue that I keep caged
within Pandora’s Box, he absorbs the sins
I commit into each layer of skin,
and I swallow his sheddings
with a shot of Jim.


there’s a security guard decaying in my brain that
lays comatose in front of I Love Lucy reruns,
screens that are supposed to monitor
barbaric animals within my body.
he must have passed out a while back,
I feel the gnats nibbling on his skin.
there’s a guard decaying in my brain that
once tamed these animals, but now
they’ve picked locks on cages, and
it’s chaotic enough to make any man insane,
but I’m not insane, so
I must be divine -
I survive what locks schizophrenics in padded rooms,
while hugging themselves into comas.

I am god from my mind to footprints stamped on concrete -
my wingspan smile and converse rubber soles
invite disciples out to dinner for glasses of white russians.
I am god in my mind and a sinner on toes -
scaring followers to spend nights between my sheets.
They are quick to leave next mornings,
as they wipe snake skin off from lips,
but, truth be told,
I’ve never spent one night
on my own .