The relentless confetti of dollars!
I’d prefer to kiss that silent chipmunk
on the roadside while a tiny ocean
of dandelion seeds arranges a gray
throne on his ear! I have no “final”
vows to take tonight, though your hair
might be floating down the Ohio.
Chameleons can march around a small room
if they want. I could sell gasoline

on the desert, though I would miss
the grass. Or I could even get your name
tattooed gingerly across my wrist at dawn.
There is so little news fit to print:
yesterday a moth caught fire.
Today a lost school of astronomers
came back, We only think tomorrow
is called “The Finished Gem.”
Tomorrow is called…come on.