Brouhaha

"I want my son to grow rich and successful through the pursuit of science"--Rimbaud

I am not the Nesquik tourniquet to hallmark gold.
I am not a miniaturist's pantomime
I am not the Greek choral fugue
in the music box's guts
I am not a sour patch kid
with ingots for eyes
I am not the monk's cell
in a red birdhouse
initials carved in Aramaic
the music from a shepherd's flute
I am not wiping much more space
from this mirror
I am not Norman Rockwell's smile
with tea stains and a bad back
I am not the auroral gouache
on Jarry's drawing
I do not have to ^/-- or rhyme
I am not a filed dream cube
placed as a muzak filling
in a deaf man's mouth
I am not Gumby's teeth protruding
I am not the ventilation system
or a coptic MISSING poster
framed in gold
Our mirror is almost gone.
I am not like Pollock
a cat of nine tails
running with pearls
I am not a carousel of trick mirrors
You always look the same.
to read this and call it yourself
so the static filigrees can fall
from a piggy bank prom ball.
I am not the T Square
of ocean light
trailing the dead stevedore
home in a casket of water
I am not the cyclops ballerina
standing on one sea blue porch
a lost heirloom mouth full of clocks
I am not the Wendigo's dowsing prayer
I am not the sound the man repeats
his catechistic bird index stutter
every fifteen minutes
looking out on the world
in paper clothes
I am an idiot's frightful pun
a missing mustache
a wishbone below the nose
I am going to wipe us away
so that we might see
each other clearly
to see who the tooth fairy
will start robbing first