Michael Robbins lives in a cashmere jet
that circles the earth at a speed ideal for
writing allusive poetry, poetry that waves
a chainsaw and wears a dolphin mask.
He sometimes wants to deplane.
Penguin requests that he wait until his next book drops.
Michael Robbins feels like a hen.
This high, he is nervous about fireworks,
how Elizabeth Bishop wove their startle over
an armadillo in a gesture of stanzas so ideal that he commissions the words
hand sewn beneath the silk lining of his calfskin jacket.
He shits in a bathroom whose taps run holy water.
He cries on the toilet because it’s hard to tell any difference
between himself and the stars. He wants to deplane.
Penguin suggests eyeliner and glitter
for the Rolling Stone cover shot by Annie Leibovitz
who perches Michael on a horse who loves flying.
The stallion wears, as if he’s won the derby, a 400 red rose garland.
Michael Robbins dreams of lightning and time machines.
He’s heard talk of a last dodo egg.
He straps a passenger pigeon to his throat as he reads aloud to revise
a poem in which zombie Ginsberg browses a supermarket for brains.
I’ve taken notes in the cockpit for weeks.
Michael tells me, “This has gone far enough.”
Like the paper doll he is, he folds
legs into stomach, head into pelvis, arms into chest.
He is a postcard.
I stand in his wake as oxygen masks drop.
About the author:
Quinn White is the author of My Moustache (Dancing Girl Press, 2013) and Orienteering (Origami Poems Project, 2013). Quinn’s work appears in or is forthcoming from journals such as Gargoyle, Sixth Finch, Weave Magazine, 491 Magazine, and Cloud Rodeo.