Thought Bubble Pops Like Bubblegum

This morning I wake up as a parrot.

This is not a metaphor. I am

a parrot. This

is not a dream. I am two teacups tall

like the matryoshka doll

pop

“Hello, my name is-”

pop like palm-sized bumper cars

“Hello, my name is-” pop

like broth, thick and sizzle “Hello,

my-” pop “Hello my name is-”

spinning like the beam

pop of the spiraled stagelight twisted

pop like a wrung towel, I

poke at my body dazed rich red

like the sun—the sun! spinning too

roly-poly toy twizzler stagelight pop

“my name-” pop “my- pop -name is” pop

pluck my feathers good luck

charms for lapels pluck petal silk

pluck salutations pluck fat bellies and good teeth

pluck deep throat

laughter pluck that locker room or

shoeshine stench pluck

“What’s so funny?” pluck

“What’s so- pluck -funny?”

pluck “What’s so goddamn funny?”

stripped red pluck carpet-dotted

joint-cracking walking husks pluck

scared like papier-mâché in the rain

pluck

I stand naked on the stage,

“Hello.”