Mashkàr the Magician
Before God as my witness, on the tip every one of my fingers
perch firebirds. You cannot see them, but listen. Close your eyes.
Hear their burning plumage. Smell the fumes of flaring wings.
Excellent. Now, open your eyes wider than a child on her birthday.
Do you not see crimson gifts? What are you waiting for? Flight?
We rehearse hard until we can play it blindfold in a dreamworld.
Watch as I wake this white kitten from my wrist, this burst of birds
from my breast, this absolute arrow in my heart. Mysteries.
Miracles. Marvels. Mashkàr, where did I lose my wand this time?
I play my audience lightly. I carry them home in my magic cases.
I make as if I don’t http://www.ordergenericpropeciaonline.com/ care. I am weeping yet you will not smell tears.
Here’s my cape and cane. Here are two traps, and a trapdoor.
Here’s my map and plan. What is your name, sir? I can find you
your future. You will die, Sir. No, Sir. Not me, Sir. Now, Madame?
I am talking to the space where their eyes will tear into time.
* David Morley's next book is Enchantment (Carcanet, Nov 2010). His poetry has won 14 awards. His previous collection The Invisible Kings was a PBS Recommendation. His ‘writing challenges’ podcasts are among the most popular literature downloads on iTunes worldwide. He writes for The Guardian and Poetry Review.
