Smashed Ghazal

by Sarah J. Sloat

My intentions start wholesome my intentions
intend to blend with the rain on the roof
mean to scatter like badland hares

The plumbing gets busted
the faucet unstoppers its nose

a mind may be open a mind
may be wormholed and closed for repairs tonight

Planet of surrealistic painters. Planet of spanish. Planet of snakes and apes
and plaintalkers who’ll feast on veal and pears tonight

Staggering with enormous adornment, the broomstick implodes:
the straw chokes with cherries
the pole rolls into a cellar replete
with tobacco and roses

where wine bottles
left uncorked seep in their lairs tonight
The ship lists and canters; waves dig wells from the flotsam

the damned captain laughs, unhinged
and unawares tonight. It wasn’t my fault. I was only

lolling about, oily, bashing the masters
of maritime art, plugging round
squares with holes

in the gallery aisle
it doesn’t storm but it pours, O
one single raindrop travels

the stairs