Clayton Eshleman

It was a little while
before I understood the bathtub
and the way the invisible people
trot about and the way you
pick them from your shoulder
and eat them or feed
them to your children.
There was a time when I didn't
comprehend much, or, like,
even see the parades
for what they were. I had assumed
I was watching a line of creatures
follow each other through
a sort of road, street, or avenue.
But a new sensation arose,
not alone anymore,
all of my other thoughts began
to creep out of the bushes
and some rose along the highway
like the TV distracting you
from an orange.
There was no where to seat
all these guests.
I could think of nothing. I slowly
raised my head and slung
my Clayton Eshleman.