from Instant Killer Wig

How much per world. Is everything included.

The truth is we often settle for copies
and you got the one in the picture.

In the upper provinces
night will pull in soon and so begin undressing.

Just tell me you never posed for anyone or heard that question.

I cede reflections which are a stretch over time.
Did I forget myself and leave the sprinklers on.

The dolls and fields in which you leave them are always underneath.

We have all lost a continent or two
and here bodies tend to pool.

from Instant Killer Wig

I cannot accept flowers
but will open this morning.

Poised, everything is looking up.

Now I see those impressions
and where they come from.

I worry about reaching other bodies and feeling
like that moment’s back.
So many formalities.

Many scientists believe humans
resent an interesting transition in time

and the explosion might leave a star.

O those above,
please don’t cloud this peak.

from Instant Killer Wig

Pineapples tell me
the season has come.

These days in all parts
the sky grasses over

and tree hides.
There is a movement

to drop it.
The ground we find 

has a memory.
Night never arrives

or files the rocks.
The face goes for miles.

In each makeup is running.
The world over

many approach vanities
with water glasses.

I like others
noticed.  

Dan Kaplan is the author of Bill’s Formal Complaint (The National Poetry Review Press, 2008) and the bilingual chapbook SKIN (Red Hydra Press, 2005). His work has appeared in Denver Quarterly, Barrow Street, POOL, Meridian, Quarterly West, Indiana Review, the Norton anthology Flash Fiction Forward, and elsewhere. He teaches at Portland State University and lives in Portland, Oregon.