Say anything, invent an excuse;
drag them out of the conversation pit,
haul their coats from the bed. Gather up
the unfinished wine glasses
and crushed napkins.
Trade my rhinestones for the lenses
of Spinoza, mecca of the eternal yes,
whose facets reflect the sweetest looks,
the most tender truths, the familiar
restored to proper strangeness.
The night is a shiny stone; standing close,
our toes try not to dream of climbing.
Is this Dali's sofa?
Then it must be your lips.
Last week, my fortune cookie read, "Smile when you are ready". I couldn't wait to use it in a poem. Don't you love when special words and phrases fall in your lap, seemingly out of nowhere? Well, it's not exactly out of nowhere, for me, since I don't believe in coincidence.
If you would like to read more on Baruch Spinoza and his lenses, click here.
Do not weep; do not wax indignant. Understand.