Out all night and stumbling home
on fishnet purple toes, nails bleeding,
the pink footprints of tiny birds
perched on the bones of my cheeks.
A yellow toy snake finds its feet
and trots to Bavaria, builds a turret,
summons the Princess.
She steps up to the bridge’s balcony.
Beneath her feet the crowd rushes
forward, swells, batters the barricades,
and waltzes to the sea. Orations pass
through their ears like padlock keys.
I try to lasso the words and yoke them
to my homeward pony, I trip. I realize
there is no princess.
I realize that it’s just
my voice that is singing.