Praying Mantis

when i wake up

i see spider monkeys wrestling on my ceiling

with bunches of golden hay in their furry hands.

as they pull themselves together

and stop tearing apart at the yellow

curly dry grass

they begin to weave webs

and add old trojan wrappers

and movie ticket stubs

and leftover sushi

to their tangled mess.

as i look closer at these mad monkeys

i make out chunks of golden greek curls,

soft and lifeless.

and that becomes my only proof

that you were ever real,

that i had a good night,

that i had a delicious meal.