Black ink on the sheets. Be careful now. Grab it as it drops, falls into the net. Becomes a bark. Not a bark in the street but a bark on a river, smoothly, grably, only as it dips. Clearly tracing five parallel lines. Staff, key, clef, time, all falls. A rest or a black note. The paper boat in a puddle will yet make its way to the sea. Untie the knot and let it go. And then the smell of mushrooms on the page like rotting bark, like the scent of a question mark
Oily eddies swirling. Look in deeper: creatures in the shallow tide pool, a kingdom of sea monkeys reciting stories of the mad ones, the ones who fill their pockets with pebbles, each one like a word in a note, bent and meant to weigh them down. That’s how they drown or float on notes, on white notes without words. The blank notes, a whole note wrapped in black that’s scarcely a gift at all. The note’s been stained all inky dark like a question mark
And why is the house filled with crows now? Everybody else went to the park. I couldn’t stay up that late. The birds pick at my hair, they pluck. They’re grooming me I guess. Floating like tomatoes. You squeeze in and pop ‘em. But dark tomatoes, not ready for the table. And look: plastic forks and knives. It’s all set now, I’m being fed like a baby bird, finding words in my mouth like chewing gum I didn’t know I was chewing. And plop, a glob, a horrid clump bent and twisted like a shark, in the shape of a question mark
All that my squiggle-body hides then reveals. It’s like that game, making the monster you don’t need. The body laid, displayed on the altar. Burn the words. Burn the message. A prayer of sacrifice, an offering, even the question of an offering. The smoke rises up, twisting around on itself. See? Look up. Printed out in the sky, there’s a question mark made of stars. The Big Dipper, the Great Bear, pointing to the lode star, the True North. Oh ha ha what a lark. Just a big old question mark.
