To Change Time

Where will you come from?
Will you dance like a ballerina?
Will chopsticks form from
each of your skinny fingertips?

I lounge around hunched over,
sipping coffee and scowling.
The colors of these walls
won't do! I say, then stop,

my eyes closing, and I think
of women twirling about,
their partners wearing the
most rococo masks, pizazz.

The cats were outside again
today, returned from the grave
like the memory of Hamlet's
voice echoing across the palisades,

but all the two scoundrels did
was sit there, backs arched,
mystery in their eyes, which
glowed like planets or stars.