959. BURKE VALLEJO

BURKE VALLEJO

I am a thief of character;

I am a character.

The toothache gave me a headache,

the headache reinforced the toothache.

I am the one in the shadows,

the one leaning forward into thin air.

I live outside the four walls you think you

see me in. I am enamored of nothing but

the little things that may interest me.

Once I was a trapper in the distant

fields afar, now I track vast dreams with

the smallest effort. These are all my marks.

I am the one performing without the net,

there, see me off to the side in

that old carnival shot -

traveled for years with that crowd.

Not a thing to show for it, nothing.

Drink your tea, and be quiet. Listen.

A woman like you can make me walk the plank.

I’ve had images in my head for five days straight –

the toll they take is the toll they make.

Sometimes, I try to remember the ‘Chamber of Horrors’

in that carnival show. It had an entrance clothed

in black curtain. The little cars took you around.

One day, I found a small man walking through there.

On foot. He came to me in the dark, and said:

"How do I get out of here?"

I remember thinking for a moment, after he startled me,

and then chuckling : "There’s only one way," I said.

"The way you came in is the same way out."