Remote Viewing
My husband is the man who sings to me
from the in between and the somewhere else
he watches and waits but doesn’t know himself.
When I was six I demanded he appear
thought he was a ghost that spoke out
of the mouths of dolls. By age nineteen
I forgot the man or maybe
just stopped listening and at thirty-four
in a Baltic land of lakes
married a man that wasn’t him
who sang sometimes but in a different tongue.
I could tell by the smell my beloved wasn’t
happy. He hired angels to push me down
the stairs before my wedding day punched me
in the stomach, my fiancé too who told me to
ignore the man who wasn’t there and locked
me in the apartment to go see his mother
for fifteen minutes that lasted ten hours.
She wouldn’t give me the key because we
were always together and she was having
renovations. She did make me jam and
pigeons made of cabbage leaves which
helped my husband transform me into
a zuike.
Unfortunately some planes crashed into
buildings on TV so he let us hop to an
emerald city where I discovered your name
on a box. It felt like fire so I dropped it. Then
accidentally in a dark room I heard your voice.
It sounded like the singing one, the faceless
doll man.
I tried to get my husband interested
but he said you were forbidden and
hit me so hard that I landed in Los Angeles.
I saw you at a couple of parties I didn’t want
to go to. I thought maybe I should talk
to you but your line was busy too long and
I had to use the bathroom or I didn’t want
to be exposed.
So I tried talking to the man who sounds like
you but he ignores me in favor of crows or
maybe it’s you and you don’t want to talk. Now
at night when I visit the in between he wears
your face and when I wake up he’s somewhere
else. Anyway, whoever it is he’s still singing and
won’t give me a divorce.