I had a golden Stingray with a Banana Seat. I had
a cowboy hat and a holster and a cap gun. I had a diamond in my eye.
I walked the words back until the distortion from the music
reached up from the ground. Do you remember me?
As a child I was turned around until I saw
a child with a stingray a, of a child.
A precipice. A sanctuary. A diamond.
I stole my memories myself and, on the weekends, now.
And there is nothing there but
silence and a Golden Stingray. At seven I came to my
father’s bedside and whispered –
Dad when I close my eyes I see cartoons. An easier child
might have meant being cute that he was realizing dreams.
I had a Golden Stingray.