carnival glass

there are not enough bells.
i go down to the mystery face
of the old garden just to pluck eye lashes.
my art gets good 
when my life starts wearing cowboy boots.
that is to say, things are not good.
i resist the urge to throw a parade
in honor of my sadness. instead,
i go out in the raining yard 
& try to talk to the dead frog 
i found on the road. he is already 
doing much better now that he's dead.
he has a carousel. he has glasses
that show him only yellow things.
yellow is generally a safe color
unless of course it has to do with 
school buses. i pop out my eyes 
& wash them in grape juice. it stings
at first but then i can see a vineyard of eyes.
everyone's stares collected
in a hillside blaring "take on me."
i would never want to end up 
in a music video. my mouth moves
to glass lyrics. at the mercantile
we become goblins. i ask if you will
look at my face through a vase.
my face is turned into a ferris wheel.
i can't tell if it's an improvement.
don't be afraid of heights. they are just
where angel larvae are hatched.
my conclusion is that we should move again.
we should put our life into vessels. we should
grow wings (the bird kind
not the insect kind) & fly 
into the mountains made
of boots. not boot straps boots though.
i mean heeled beautiful boots.