Soliloquy in Late May

Am love, am good to be

Removed and lost,

Am we that you are, am just,

So many to spend, am value,

Wanted by others, am valued,

Spending years, am a halo

Going back around a board,

Am as bad the value,

Almost am failure, am almost

A warning for everyone else,

The mind to mind being made,

Just you taken, am a big laboratory.

Am a receiver for the projection,

The station, the direction, she,

Am beneath you, am the dislike,

Am the cane and shoes to bear.

A Scraping Sound

 

I’m only crazy around food,

You touch my bowl,

My beautiful blue bowl,

I will bite, no matter the hand,

Sometimes I even snap

At my own fingers,

Just to make sure no one

Thinks they can maneuver

To starve me out of a meal.

 

Dull and Confused

 

With Nelson came the windowsills,

Signs of life without a shadow,

But a knack for how to build you

And drive away supports until

They became thick puppet strings.

 

While Nelson came and you adorned

His shoulders with your hands,

I adored your sun instead and paid

Tribute to quickly drawn memories

Of how you nodded your head.

 

To nowhere, I sped up the poetic

Genius and by the hole in the wall

Half sang and half spoke to you,

A nice little opera formed in the shade

By you two making love above me.

 

Empower Lines

 

Looking at the poles that I pass by,

But remain in place for the forest

 

I wonder what happened when they went up,

Did the trees think they were relatives,

 

Poor, simple, and unused to branches,

Not knowing when to grow or shed leaves?

 

Did they hold back their roots from spreading,

Afraid they might trample into the space

 

Of this newest neighbor,

Another plane, solid, and stoic addition?

 

The trees remain but the woodlands,

Have ceased to be a population,

 

The squirrels and the birds,

Who found no home on these poles,

 

No grubs inside to be plucked,

And no shelter mixed with shade,

 

Did these poles make them leave the forest,

Afraid that a disease was setting in,

Causing branches to drop to the ground,

And dragging black vines over every trunk?

 

We May Abandon

 

The old days, anything

We can’t remember,

Let them dry, the crusts

We’ll take our cues from,

The bones will hang

Our fashion in place,

Until the new youths come

To kick our corpses to pieces,

They’d have to be an army

To make us give it up,

Our bones should hang us

And us only, how strong

Will their one and only be?

Even today we pick

At the piles of time-waste,

Habit and chance

Are our banners, full of holes,

But good enough to carry,

We’ll probably kick around

Longer than a generation,

The kids won’t be able to speak,

They will be divided, yes

We’re all different now,

But at least we speak together.

 

Personals Ad #18

Jonathan roams a cleft to cleft,

He has quite the collection,

Gone spelunking

To take all the prizes,

From judges, not juries,

His peers hate him,

Jonathan is no metaphor,

Perhaps a plain old phor,

He is no simulation of the bowl,

Jonathan speaks that way,

Coward? No,

Too brave to fight, in fact,

He could clobber all of you

If he was a domestic abuser,

Will you place your bets,

That he will not fight you, bite you,

Send you off for repairs in Florida?

Shucks to your dollars,

Shucks to your demands,

I will do it,

I will take the mask off

And here he is,

Jonathan, alive and kicking a well.