What can you do when the ladder breaks
and shatters your intentions into thoughtful pieces
that fly higher than that tall girl who was always on ecstasy?
Remember how she strained her body into prying positions? In closets
under the stairs. Behind dead-of-night doorways
She can’t reach the polished star without a ladder even with her platform pumps
dirty elastic giraffe neck.
Does a person get dirty when they are outside of their body?
The ladder is haunted. We knew it this whole time.
We can’t articulate this to non-fiction people. Only the fictional ones get it.
A terrible economy
is trivial to a ghost. And the giraffe.
what would be the incentive for tall ladies to
behead the fleas
burst their dreams of going on vacation
priority of spending time with their children
joke and play games
the moderate weather forecast that they thrive in
But now we wait to see if we can reach the star