the biggest crow gobbled my right eye up.
left, crying and winking
away the abandoned pair of bright orange socks
bread crumb trailed right to Radio Shack.
*
I’m not sure what a ukulele has to do with any of this
but she has one for what it’s worth.
any moment the twink-twinkle plucking will Red Dwarf every little star.
*
she assumes the position: Twink. Twinkle.
shrunken guitar stuffed sick with pineapple,
coconut clobbered singing hole.
Twink. Twinkle. Twink.
*
thick calves and moustache pedal four seats of invisibles
to their place at this apocalypse.
he stops and marbles a grin,
then rings his bell.
Ring-Twink. Twinkle-ring.
*
It’s time to abandon this body.
*
Too-Tall Stick Indian brings everything but the ukulele to a halt.
he needs directions, and says they should arrive
directly from the road.
*
I’m as ghostly as the pedicab’s passengers.
Stick Indian will take nothing from me.
*
Still, his road wager pays:
a visible made brave by his backpack
waves all three of his dimensions:
“Over here, brother.”
He walks the Too-Tall instead of pointing.
*
Ring pedals away.
Twink twinkle.
*
air brakes and rotten eggs launch the crow
and my missing eye
into the dangling donut hole of the bus driver.
*
his face reveals everything:
fuck. a ukulele.
not this Sunday.
*
that bus doesn’t even slow.
left, crying and winking