Demotic Psychotic

by Nancy Gauquier

Seven years as a cashier in a tourist shop at Pier 39,
I mean, hey, I've sold enough wind chimes,
now I'm going crooked, bent, squiggly,
off key, off time, no valentines,
no sympathy, no symphony, no symmetry,
no sugar in my tea, stark raving surreal
meta-counter-yin/yang-impossibility.
If I need to commune with nature,
when I'm out of my tree,
I pull leaves out of my ears,
spit river rocks out of my oceanic mouth,
hop on the wild white stallion of my mind,
and ride.