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There is a diner in Wisconsin
Where the Arctic flakes fall thick
The desert winds blow
And the breakfast is hot and fresh
Isolated, centered on a great plateau
The diner waits, waits
Yearning for someone to find it
A child in waves of handbags
It has a new owner
A restaurant in Japan
Is its second, only
Wisconsin though, has no menus
And no one who searches can find it
I found it, never wanting,
Through a friend of a friend
But it took me a thousand years
To get there
I walked
The glowing letters are heraldry
In the night sky
The bus never left the station
But I did
A small enclosure, the diner
Steel on steel
Panes of crystal separate
Realities
See the smoke
The diner is always
There, unseen but yearned for
Its cuisine attracts flies
Of an obscene variety
The flies never feast
They are too careless
A breakfast of renown
Demands respect
I am the first to arrive
There are no directions
I wandered into it myself
Vision begets a stinted reality
Unknowing falls into the pan
Eggs fry and bacon blisters
Unordered and unwanted, I sit alone
The coffee untouched
The cook watches
This is all that can be dreamed
I will stay in this diner
as far as my life shall lead me
I am the only customer
And have no pay
I see no end
Nor a beginning
The thorax is severed,
Time is relative
Columbia dematerialized, a facsimile failed
A pinch of light
A smattering of nothingness
Yet music plays
And the dish comes into itself
The diner is always
A perpetual mealtime
Now, dawn has broken
And with it, my fast
- Serohilde Horn (????)
YOU ARE READING
Diner World
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