The lion tamer speaks by offering her neck
The elephant replies with watery eyes
I pull showgirl feathers from my mouth

while my braids tumble down, yellow as daffodils—
those flowers called Narcissus, which smell like honey
and look like trumpets, in the marching band hired

to accompany my life. Let’s hear it
for my monkeys on the cymbals, taking a break
from their typewriters. Tonight the stage mirror

is clear enough to see the reflection
of all my selves. On my lapel, a plastic daisy
sprays tears at the audience, and I hope

to drown the front row. Every word here means:
take off your clothes. It turns out I’m good at this.
My selves go on forever.