September 15

I.

Went to Bob's Furniture
to buy my brain a sofa.

II.

The Moon swallows a tide
while I sip a can of soda.

III.

Uranus, today,
was our yoga instructor.

IV.

Malaria contracted me one day
while I was eating a mango.

Couplet

I.

Walked excitedly to the arboretum

where a Rose of Sharon stopped me at the door –

asked, What the fuck do you want, son?

II.

 

Tendrils of the pea plant say

Hug me, Hug me, Hug me

Monday Twos

Bread

Scanned carefully through a loaf of bread,
inspected its ears, neck, nose, skin,

then picked the perfect slice, like I would

the one pet, from the nearby adoption center.

 

Breath

 

Say good-bye to each exiting breath

like a daughter driving off to college.

 

 

Annual Exam

Once a year, a visit
to the doctor, for me
to hear the secrets
my blood already knows.

Saturday Rain

Rain falls outside in shreds
like egg noodles.

September Sunflowers

Flowers seem to burst
out of the plant's fuzzy armpits.

Little Things

I have no control over most things in life –

deaths, jobs, seasons, the way

cancer comes, then purrs in the colon. But what I do

have control over, I take seriously, practice concern:

whether to make the bed each morning after breakfast,

whether to fold the sheets.

Two Thoughts

Fly

If we base the modes of birth

and death on doctrines

of the Karmic theory, I am all but left

to wonder what a fly must have done wrongly

to deserve an end –drowned,

in my bathroom’s white toilet-bowl.

 

Flower

 

What is pollen

but a flower's ejaculate? 

Eye Examination

Not long after I would sit, as instructed, on

the stool, part open my eyes for her to examine,

with a laser’s red fingertip, what lies within –

I would flinch, then writhe, knowing she

had discovered secrets, pieces of thoughts, anonymous

notes, that reside in the dark, cluttered chambers of me.

I would feel guilt, exposed, surrounded with shame,

while she would know to say, here, please, drink this glass of water. 

Baby Rain

Possessive –the way, you

held on to the umbrella handle

during the afternoon’s sudden downpour –

your palms curled into pleats, moist,

the warm ecology of your breath, above your head

a makeshift roof of blue nylon taffeta on which

rain settled down, like sweat.  

Transitory

The trees have mostly stayed,

but their leaves have bent with age, many

dislocated, even –green,

to yellow, to paling red –while I

have remained fixated on the thought

that these trees, my trees, outside

the window frame, look like rows

of traffic lights –programmed

to make the color change, from Summer’s

Go, to Winter’s low, Falling to a Stop.