Reflex

It all began on a rocking horse.
The story of my life, a talking horse,
started slow, like a second date,
a secret wish served on broken
plate, a golden coin, flattened
on railroad steel. I twitched
and conceived a critique
of consciousness. A cactus of truth
pierced my skin, drooled out
a foreign friend. Transposed
in a perspiring melange,
we painted a tapestry
of terracotta pearls and timid
paper and plastic,
expanding like a wicked
little shadow, inebriating
me like a salty sailor.
The curve of a smile puckers
in carefully colored calendars.
Teeth on Tuesdays, grins
on Mondays and chortles
on Fridays.
Week after week a sad
love song whispers
on my shoulder like an evil
demon, urging me to your
cracked egg shell smiles
and flakey pastry prose.
We both know that making
the sun rise is like muting
a silent monkey.
It has already happened.