Three After Jim Bowling, by Paula J. Lambert

Liminal State, by Jim Bowling (USA) contemporary. Click image for artist site. Photo provided by artist.

Babyman, unable to look Reason in the eye

stares blankly over his head instead. Ruminating, 
we might guess. Pouting. Call it a liminal state--
 
a place where Babyman is king, where he climbs
to the top of his castle and Reason never follows. 
 
Where he builds a ballroom bigger than his castle 
and Reason never intervenes. Babyman has plans.
 
Building a brand-new casino on the ocean’s island 
of trash—prime real estate. A deal with Dyson 
 
for a vacuum that will suck every bird left from 
the sky. Wait. Forget Dyson. Babyman will whistle 
 
and every bird will obey. He’ll fill the new casino
with the best cages anyone has ever seen—gilded
 
cages. Solid gold. And anyone rich enough to sail 
to the island on their puny yachts—Babyman has
 
the best yachts, the biggest yachts—will pay extra 
to see the birds. The most beautiful birds. Young
 
birds. Birds like you’ve never seen before because
Babyman? He invented birds. He taught birds to fly. 

**

​Babyman, with trinity knot tattoo,

lies, quite often. He tells the papists that the symbol 
stands for Father, Son, Spirit. Then he tells the woke 
it really means Past, Present, Future. Anyone wearing 
a uniform is told it honours the troops who protect us 
by Land, Sea, and Air. Babyman smiles, every time, 
knowing the circle inside the knot has always meant 
just one thing: Me, Myself, and I. 

**

​Babyman, petulant, crosses his arms
 
and pouts. The voice of Reason says it’s just not possible 
to walk on water, and Babyman knows about the floods, 
 
the hundreds of bodies washed away. He knows about 
the fires, thousands of acres of trees incinerated. Babyman 
 
doesn’t much care for trees. What did they ever do for him 
that glass and steel and concrete, layered with gold, 
 
didn’t do better? Babyman doesn’t much care for people
either. Not really. All Babyman wants is to know that 
 
when the floods come for him—and they will—he can just 
walk away. Glide over the surface of water like skating 
 
on ice. You remember ice? So beautiful. Those ice skaters? 
Their tiny skirts? The way they’d spin so those little skirts 
 
go up? The way they’d do the splits way up in the air? 
Oh boy. The voice of Reason tries to get Babyman back 
 
on track, but he stomps his foot and the earth trembles. 
It cracks like the surface of a frozen pond and opens 
 
into a sinkhole. A vast chasm swallowing Babyman at last, 
and his throne, and the voice of Reason, and you and me 
 
and the terrible flooding waters. It’s the end of Babyman. 
It’s the end of everything but the scorched earth left behind, 
 
laid bare round the edges of a gaping hole. A beautiful hole.
The biggest hole. A hole like nobody has ever seen before

​Paula J. Lambert

Paula J. Lambert has published five full-length poetry collections including Terms of Venery, Revised (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions 2025) and six chapbooks including Sinkhole (Bottlecap Press 2025). Lambert is also a literary translator, small press publisher, and visual artist. Her work has been supported by the Ohio Arts Council, the Greater Columbus Arts Council, and the Virginia Center for Creative Arts. Her mentorship has been recognized by PEN America's Prison and Justice Writing Program. A strong supporter of the intersection of poetry and science, she lives in Columbus with her husband, Dr. Michael Perkins, a philosopher and technologist. More at www.paulajlambert.com.