...and slid down the invisible glass wall of life. Just like that, bam! pow! poetry erupts out of the unexpected, the prosaic, the conjurer’s quotidian canvas, & the heart, agape, responds in kind.
I want to turn kings & queens into fans, cutting & shuffling like a magician, a card sharp, a criminal on the side of the angels. I want to deceive you, & feel your arms around my deception.
Besides love, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. To turn language into a hat upon a table, & to lift it, revealing neither the head nor the tail of a coin, but a solid block of ice. A miracle
of rare device. I want to astonish you, & find in the light of your delight the reflection that obliterates self, that obliterates phrases like I want, that obliterates the hours it took,
the endless hours of patience, practice, to fool you so completely with the truth that hides inside, a terrified rabbit. Who is the poet? One who re-enchants the disenchanted. What is the poet?
The one who never reveals the secret. When is the poet? During the moment of misdirection. Where is the poet? Right before your eyes. Why is the poet? I’ll tell you in just a minute, but first:
Pick a card. Any card.