THE WAY THINGS ARE

There was a man who had too many mustaches. It began with the one on his upper lip, which he called his normal one.

He would say, this is my normal mustache.

But then he would take out another mustache and put it over his real mustache, saying, this is my normal one.

Then he would take out another mustache and put it over the other two and say, this one's normal.

And then another over the other three, saying, this one's abnormal.

And after several more layers he was asked why he wanted to have so many normal and abnormal mustaches.

He said, it's not that I want to, it's simply the way things are...

Then he took all the mustaches off. They like a rest, he murmured.

The first mustache, which we thought was real, was not.

We mentioned to him that we thought his first mustache was real.

He said, it is, all my mustaches are real; it's just that some of them are normal, and some of them are abnormal; it's simply the way things are...

ON THE EATING OF MICE

A woman was roasting a mouse for her husband's dinner; then to serve it with a blueberry in its mouth.

At a table he uses a dentist's pick and a surgeon's scalpel, bending over the tiny roastling with a jeweler's loupe...

Twenty years of this: curried mouse; garlic and butter mouse; mouse sauteed in its own fur; Salisbury mouse; mouse-in-the-trap, baked in the very trap that killed it; mouse tartare; mouse poached in menstrual blood at the full of the moon...

Twenty years of this eating their way through the mice...And yet, not to forget, each night one less vermin in the world...

SUNSET

That which is someone is something hungry, twitching, and eyes running with ancient sea water; set on its pedestal, a chair, marked on the floor in long shadows at the setting of the sun...

The window offers nothing to eat, save the broken membrane of the setting sun...

THE RAT'S TIGHT SCHEDULE

A man stumbled on some rat droppings.

Hey, who put those there? That's dangerous, he said.

His wife said, those are pieces of a rat.

Well, he's coming apart, he's all over the floor, said the husband.

He can't help it; you don't think he wants to drop pieces of himself all over the floor, do you? said the wife.

But I could have flipped and fallen through the floor, said the husband.

Well, he's been think of turning into a marsupial, so try to have a little patience; I'm sure if you were thinking of turning into a marsupial he'd be patient with you. But, on the other hand, don't embarrass him if he decides to remain placental, he's on a very tight schedule, said the wife.

A marsupial? A wonderful choice! cried the husband...

THE SWEET TWILIGHT

By the use of centrifugal force streets are brought up into the sky. Boulevards move unsupported through the stars. Promenades off these circle moons and planets...

It is a marvelous age, and casual clothes are the fashion. At night children are heard screaming in the alleys, their bodies being mined for their organs. It is possible to live forever! And all manner of sweets are being offered on the public thoroughfares; flavored ices, pastel chocolates and cherry soda aphrodisiacs. And oh, the strumming of ukuleles! Casual clothes! Century-long summers in Alpha Centauri!

I love you, your gray hair spreading like a broken spider's web in the Martian winds. Come spring and we'll gondola down through the canals...

Space and desire meet, like emptiness and the desire for emptiness, sucking each into the other, back and forth.

Having opened heaven for its jewelry--chandelier of galaxies, glass gardens fo the night!...Having opened ourselves to this opening of heaven...in spite even of living forever in hearing of ukuleles strummed, the flavored ices, your gray hair in the Martian winds, I felt empty, emptied out of myself...

I hid on earth under my bed listening to the cries of children, and the dry coughing of paper cups dropping on the boulevards...

WITH SINCEREST REGRETS

for Charles Simic

Like a monstrous snail, a toilet slides into a living room on a track of wet, demanding to be loved.

It is impossible, and we tender our sincerest regrets. In the book of the heart there is no mention made of plumbing.

And though we have spent our intimacy many times with you, you belong to an unfortunate reference, which we would rather not embrace...

The toilet slides away...