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The sun, the moon, and the stars Are spread out
in the sky; Time has
finally been defeated. There’s our
door with no knob, And beside it
the crooked mailbox Giant spiders
crawled out of at night
To bite off
all my fingers. Tim-Tam in his
birthday party hat Mother tied on After shaving
off all his fur And making him
dance the rumba Must be
inside, Mister Ghost? Father on his
deathbed? And you, I
presume, big brother, Still in your
basement room Complete with
a mattress And a little
black roach to contemplate,
Trailing one leg behind On some infinitesimal Road to Calvary?
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