DAVID COPPERFIELD AND THE NAIVETE OF ILLUSION

all i want is to be able
to saw them in half
to sever them down the middle
separate legs from body
hands from holsters
thought from action
pull a fresh funeral bouquet
from one sleeve
a dove from the other
and a white cloth
long enough to circle the world
and soft enough to dab the tears
of us all
from around my neck