we saw an upright creature
that did not seem to be a bear

we saw the coils of a serpent
rising, falling on the surface
of the lake

we saw an animal
on two legs
with great wings

we saw an owl
the size of a man
dressed in a business suit

we saw
other upright creatures
with great fortunes
walking among us
as if they were familiar
with how we lived

we saw a yeti
in a cafe
speaking well of Noam Chomsky
while drinking fair trade coffee

we saw money we were owed
in the paws of chupacabras

we saw the Mendes goat
playing dominoes

we saw an equation
that measured Nessie
covering a chalkboard
while a posse of swamp apes
debated its nature

we saw compassionate
border patrols of mothmen
floating over the Rio Grande

we knew these were the legends of old
the monsters of the imagination

we saw in the margins of old maps
the words “here be dragons”
and recognized our surroundings
at once

dirty man
dark as this old house
with a chicken coop tumbled
down back

musty fellow
grime and shabby thought
big round hands
bald eyed and wanting
a shave
a pill
a clean mind
first stoop bound
then through the thin door

if i can get a home
i can get a job
if i can get a job
i can keep a house
if i can keep a house
i can keep chickens
then chickens
will keep me

shard of a man
now in the coop

the small curled feathers
on the gray floor
like shavings from a plane

they made some things here
i could too

squat man
spreads blanket

if i can stay here
i can stay here
if i can stay here
i can stay here
can stay here
if i can
if i can maybe
be home
with chickens
to keep me
keep me
keep a home

I’m not planning on dying
yet — indeed, at all, if I
can help it.  I plan to
cast myself in hollow resin,
build robotic pumps and filters
for the insides,
and stay hooked into the grid
in lieu of having a brain,
memories, human
connection.

I can exist, I think,
without eyes for new beauty
and ears for novel sounds —
I’ve seen and heard quite enough,
thank you.  Food’s
a distraction and a crutch,
so here’s an unregretted good bye
to taste, and 
what my skin has taught me
has been mostly treacherous.

But, oh, the nose —

I don’t know how to 
lose that forever;
I don’t know
how to live
without these scents
that drag up specifics,
that cause recoil and 
draw me into events
and people I would not 
have otherwise known:

a red onion left too long on a plate.
The vague odor of the trash.
The neck after swimming.
The firepit next door.

How shall I set myself free
of these
without knowing the ends
of the stories?