If the World Were Upside Down

What if the sun’s purpose
were fire, not light, a smile
façade to cloak a snarl,
a perverse boiling of the universe
its dream?

What if the moon
were just a round faced idiot,
a crater where the brain
would be supposed, the stars
mere coincidence of sparks
from flinty opposition
in the heavens?

What if birds’ songs
were mechanical aspirations,
air dragged across the rough terrain
of tongues that twisted
brittle with harsh phrases?

What if rabbits only twitched
their darling noses because
they thought the world
smelled rank? Suppose
that squirrels were just rats
with fuzzy tails and the rose
had no purpose but the thorn.

If all grapes were sour, their
nectar acid on the palate
and hearts were stone
from ventricle to aorta,

would the rain still whittle
minds to melancholy
and the west wind set souls free?
Would our hardened hearts
be fit for eternity?

 

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