Beautiful Fiction

Children state their wishes for summer
of wizard mice and talking ducks
it's Desire running amok
through a mockery of stairs
in a castle made of carton
in a place called Orlando

Am I really here?

Poet Kid tries to write a poem
dodging with hops and jumps
the bumps in the road
as cloudy day of summoned rain
falls cold and enters wet
through holes in the soles of our shoes

Am I really here...?

Swearing comes hard hail against fake
as we keep it real
searching for bloody real
in a world of beautiful fiction
'cause, aye, I was there
looking for comfortable, artsy lies
back when the buildings fell
not just during that terrific September
but also when ETA
blew that train station in places like Spain
and the American terror fell
on places like Middle East
leaving question and exclamation marks
in our heads and open, round lips
so I keep asking

Am I really here...