Contact Lenses

where’s my bathtub?
gotta simplify things:
plastic streets of this dream in front of you
bobbing as you walk
a guillotine has a cutting edge
and cold faces

walk again
like a fat woman inside a skinny woman trying to get out
like a     huge
simplification
like poverty swells each time its name
is turned into ceremony

has pinball been invented?

where have i been
looking for your knees?

contact lenses 
dropped on command
biplanes ascending from an emotionless sea
bubbles bursting beneath your feet
one lifetime obsessed with the flying dutchman
is one too many

who inherited
this paper
command
that they cover     an entire ocean
in plastic

and ready to walk
no bathtub beneath them
on water?

from Cyclone Fence (2007)