Want List

Bass lines like fat men squeezing into 3rd grade desks. Coltrane’s squealing right before I was born. If not,             a pill that makes the music in my head stop. Immediately, then I won’t know what I’m missing. I want dissimilar words, hyphenated by minty fresh breath.  What good are words                    if no one will listen? A way-back machine, so I can fix.                 William Shatner, circa 1967: guest host for my 8th birthday party. I’m wishing for mandibles, clipping the staccato lilt of my phrasing. Mandibles to tailor a new dress. My woman needs one. Then I want X-ray vision,             so I can ignore             what I wish for. In the semi-embarrassment of silence, I want to understand why Goya used spoons to paint                        instead of leaves.                        If nothing else, I want a map with the exact location of the crossroads, so I can believe what I never should have known.