THERE’S A TRICK IN IT

by Mather Schneider

but we’re never going to figure it out.
I have a nightmare:
nobody’s talking to each other,
everybody is quiet as dreaming birds
falling from a night sky
through swords twitching like snakes
after the heads have been bitten off.
Like tongues torn
in storms of ether
fear stretches ear to ear
hate and love growl
over the same bowl
smiles are painted
in blood
on the empty white flesh
and history heaps doubt-wonder
over the way of things
life is a contradiction
like the sweet puke of bees
who’ve feasted on the flowers of hemlock.