FOR MY FRIEND WHO COMPLAINS HE CAN'T DANCE
AND HAS A SEVERE CASE OF WRITER'S BLOCK
Then, take this tambourine
inside the sheep barn,
listen to the anaconda's intestines,
the shark's walking stick,
learn the river insect's secret
neon calligraphy,
swim through Frida Khalo's hair
and come out smelling like orchids,
lift your appetite
towards the certified blue turtle,
feast on Garcia Lorca's leather shoes
and taste the sun, the worms of Andalusia,
don't hesitate in front of a donut,
a ferris wheel, the crab nebula,
excavate diamond-eyed demons,
Chaucer's liver, Minoan helmets,
paste Anne Sexton's face on a $1,000 bill
and purchase a dozen metaphors,
beware of the absolute scorpion,
the iguana with the limping leg,
permit indwelling, white words around the eyes,
the confrontation of windows,
never feed your towel to the alligator,
he will eat you and eat you and eat you.
—Nick Carbo