Ask me anything, any thing at all:

am I pretty? am I rich?
Am I healthy, well, listening
to the answers?

Do I collect anything — rabbit’s feet,
bird’s wings, stamps? Am I fretting
about tomorrow?

Do I know the way to San Jose, Wellness,
T or C, Intercourse? Does anyone
live in such places or is everyone a ghost?

Are you a ghost? Does anyone mind
your spirit being here and visible without
a reason to be either?

Did you give it a whirl, ride the snake,
dance with the devil, balance your heart
on the head of a pin with an angel keeping faith?

Do you wanna party? Are you
experienced? Do you like me or
anyone else? Ask me anything

and I will answer you with the same lies
I give myself each time; myriad answers
come to mind as I face them; the questions

do not matter as in the end
they all have the same answer —
yes, no, I don’t know, and ask another.

As I fade, as I become vibrant
with color, as I swoop in like a swallow,
no answer matter one whit at all more than another.

Ask another. Ask another, ask
all of them at once or never again;
the silence is deafening. The noise is too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T