Oracle Voices Poem by anais vionet

I'm Imagining a place where we make sense - the hot-chocolate safe-house where we'll tongue wrestle, watch Gossip Girl reruns and cuddle - sustained by love and Cinnamon Life cereal.

This dark, coffin-like clock in the corner whirrs, mechanically.
Suddenly a little yellow-clock-bird bursts, jumping-jack-like,
through a tiny door on a blue, tongue-suppressor diving board.

"Cuckoo! " it shrieks, to mock me. "Shut up! " I say defensively
but it repeats, "Cuckoo! " like an oracle - an unfeeling instrument of adult logic.