In my dream there are
marriages and a leaf and my third
grade teacher, how Freudian that she is
smoking a cigar.   And goldfish live in vodka -

a terrible accident!  Even with the
too-tight dog collar that you're holding tenderly with your
teeth, goldfish mr. sunshine would slip by and live in my stomach

and I would never be alone

but the tickle inside my ribs would make me open
my mouth wide for a big    belly     laugh
and out would come mr. sunshine, with the
cornbread & ninety proof & cigarette butts that
I swallowed like a spy

mr. sunshine's vestigial fins wave a calm goodbye
to my strange mouth, and when people ask
how old he would be, today
I tell them that I don't remember.  

Even if you're afraid of broken glass
I would call you away from playing family
and point to the fluttering creature on the floor,
shaking, it's solid oak base so you've got to help me
kill it.