stiletto crow - poetry show

I heard my imagination loud but not clear

A jack-in-the-box is a very fine thing
And a very fine thing is he
These guys’ mothers’ tongues are normal-sized
This morning I heard my imagination
It was a drunk clearing his throat
Rather than a rosy singer, with climax
On her horizon
Jack’s head jumped through all the layers
As if there were no layers and conflict between them
No cop raising his truncheon
All of this took place before a heavy purple curtain
And there was precisely timed clapping