Tuesday, April 16, 2013

The Alpaca Sofa



It is my honor
to sit seiza
in front of your alpaca’s mouth.
I calmly feed it
specially-filled gyoza.
Your alpaca smiles
at the flavors
and the hallucination 
of being
a gorgeous, celibate panda.

You ride high
atop its hallucination’s plush
black and white back
like Sam Peckinpah
swinging a colorful handbag
above his head
and shouting quotes 
from Zizek.

Within 
your alpaca’s brain.
a film of chemical cinema
plays. From its bluest-blue sky,
a panda-god slowly descends--
upright, spot-lighted and humanoid
(not a filthy zoo-bear). 
Behind its movement, a river
of noisy pink flowers churns--
10,000 zujaka petals
falling off from the edges of sounds.
Your alpaca smiles,
its eyes half-closed in effort
to stay alive within the dream,
to not lose the line
it draws itself on.

Perched below and above
your alpaca’s luxurious fleece,
we chat about odd creations
of the world, connecting distant
details with things vaguely visible,
finding more than could be 
possible in this world without us. 
Your alpaca eats another gyoza 
from my hand. Its digestion rumbles 
from deep inside and we laugh out
a perpetual rebellion of
culminations.


for RM
by jerry gordon
4.17.13

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