Jillian lives at Wrecking Ball Cottage,
she babbles on in ancient tongues
which our arachnid population
find irretrievably
charmant.
Kelly lives at Wrecking Ball Cottage,
she has found a portal underneath the futon
which teleports her towards
the percolating coffee
pot.
Ryan lives at Wrecking Ball Cottage,
he recruits rocks from the mystical backyard of refuse
which shall become a mighty army
of no-nonsense lawn
gnomes.
Last night, I followed the hole in my head. I am very close to the hole in my head. I followed the hole faithfully, & I was rewarded for doing so. The hole in my head filled one of the less-sentient holes in my head with various selections from Mandarin’s Chinese buffet. The hole in my head let me leave the table early, so that I could go & look at the koi fish the live in the lobby. ‘Welcome to Mandarin’s’ say three hostesses, in English. They say it in English because there are written instructions for doing so, hidden behind the hostess podium. I walk past the podium, of my own free will, to look at the koi fish. The koi fish represent good fortune; also, they represent friendship. The koi fish breathe through holes in the sides of their head. These fish have no feelings, & they swim wherever their tail tells them to. They swim underneath the floor, & I watch them doing so. I watch them through a hole in the floor. The hole is full of glass so that customers can walk upon it, & imagine what it is like to live underneath the lobby. Right on cue, the hole in my head walks into the lobby. The three hostesses say 'Welcome to Mandarins'. The hole is walking slowly. It is stuffed full of moon cake & other sweet things the come in the shape of a moon. It is the moon festival inside of Mandarin’s, & you are free to eat whatever moon shaped food you want. I open my mouth so that it resembles a comical O shape. The hole in my head jumps through the hole in my mouth. Meanwhile, the koi fish filters water through its gills via the comical O shape of its opening & closing mouth. I try to jump into the hole in the koi fish’s head. I did not fit inside of it, not even close.
Six chickadees flew into our orange kitchen,
& nestled in the egg-compartment our fridge door.
A seventh chickadee flew into my beige head.
It suggested several alternate names for light bulbs.
A single crow hopped out of the dusty air ducts
in order to examine our Art Deco ceiling fan.
Suddenly, our compact fluorescent bulb exploded,
& was replaced by a motorized mirror ball.
The mirror ball did not survive the Flying V attack
of a seemingly unlimited flock of wetland ducks.
I directed the ducks to a puddle of standing water,
which was soon illuminated by a brand new fixture.
Our newest light bulb was a golden brown goose.
It’s beak radiated heat like a wide-open oven.
Ryan Bird regularly posts poems on a blog called Robot Kissing Booth.
He intermittently accepts submissions for a photocopied magazine called Twaddle.
He irregularly sells copies of his chapbook Under One Roof from Trainwreck Press.
Ryan’s poems have appeared in many publications that blend scholastic merit
with literary notoriety.
They’ve also appeared in many publications that blend sophomoric spirit with literal obscurity.
He is most proud of the latter.
