"Just How Does That Work?" by Peter Fried

“Just how does that work?” asked the doctor, letting go of all expectations,
dropping the deck of cards

onto the pile of lonelinesses- tomorrows which never came, did not come, have not, will not, cannot, would not, ought not.

To the stable with the barrow boy-
out with the rifle, don’t stifle, this trifle,
this connection, this appointment with hate, with the labyrinth at the end of time-

at the end of the hall,
turn right for hate room 101, or 108, I forget which- you will remember- just follow the barbwire-

laid-low rosary
leading the way to kingdom come, to Valhalla, the hate bomb,
the eight ball- don’t get stuck

behind the shadow Sisyphus got stuck behind, getting his inverse, reverse tan on the hill to the beacon-
comb your hair stallion,

meet me where the shadows are long, where the asphalt ends,
where the fun starts,
the angels land-

light as feathers,
deft as daffodils
before they are blown-
don't pass me up because my skin is sallow,

because I didn't swallow, because I didn't change my Carhart tutu
for the real deal!