POSTMEN

Sleep in until the mail comes.
Let the world wait
for your memories of ferris wheels,
and getting drunk with small-town carnies,
avuncular bars
littered with seedy pool tables
and cigarettes,
fluttering red to the ground
across the field
of frenetic
kinetic
fireworks.

"But where have you been hiding
all these years?"
they mused aloud.
"In other worlds,
in other worlds,"
she answered,
"Caught in a trance,
where the voices that hedge me into reality
became passive and remote,
like drifting into daydream.
Those voices clung
to the outside of the bell jar,
and became the distant
soothing
chiming
rainstorm
of infinite dropping pins.
Welcome home,"
she told them,
and offered them the inside of her bubble
to rest a while
and sleep in until the mail comes
and the wheel begins to spin its sparks
of frenetic
kinetic
fireworks.