MICRO POEMS

                                                                                    ANTIGUA

DREAM PEOPLE

How do we make people
In our dreams?
A stranger makes them at the
Bottom of the ocean of our
Skulls.
They wash over us
Like sleep,
And then we undo them
In the morning.

TREES, BIRDS and SKY

Little leaves happy today,

Stand up and kiss each other.

People think

And

sadness.

The  branches shake,

Arguing among

Themselves.

The branches heave

Like an angry

Woman.

The deepening air,

The sluggish clouds.

Gravity wins this round.

On skyway

Bird flies a long way to tree,

Sees little wife there.

The birdies

are taking

An encore performance.

Sky’s not falling.

It’s standing

Like a vertical wall.

Horizontal eye.

Vaginas pass

in the sky.

Modesty becomes us.

When clouds pass

courtesy prevails.

Slanted blue sky,

Branches

Diamond  leaves.

ME AND I

Open the door; that’s all I ask.

When I have my first drink, my dear,

My chest becomes thin air and my feet disappear.

I look into people’s eyes

And try to see if they are good or evil.

I usually see that they are both.

I sit here quoting me to myself.

I am not yet deranged enough to begin.

In the mirror I watch myself watching myself.

One side of my mouth just told the other to start talking.

I want to appear to you

Sterling ,

On television.

Am I destined to be a carbon copy of all the people I admire?

I can’t stand the sound of my one hand clapping.

I just saw myself as a very weathered individual.

Ghosts from my past talk to me mano a mano.

I sit here in my underwear: hot, swearing, dreamless.

Give me the key to myself, please. I am either shut out or shut in; I don’t know which it is.

There are people whose eyes shine.

I want eyes like those.

Eyes like those can burn up the world.

Is it my voice…Is it my voice?

Among the multitude,

There must be one

that is mine.

I  have 3 addresses;

I don’t know where

I live.

I just told a young man I wouldn’t want to be his age. It’s true; I wouldn’t want to be any age.

Maybe I am too naked and that is why I am confused. I need to weave more mystery around me and tell my friends to try to touch it.

I tried to make a sculpture of you,

Cutting away bit by bit

From  the stone

Until you were not there.

I married you after you had died

And we had a great honeymoon.

Remember me after I die,

Like every day at a certain time…

Okay?

Delete:

I said it,

I never said it.

Alone?

Not alone, no.

Many people cackle inside.

I cannot step from my bed;  invisible hands hold me down.

A voice is torturing me in my sleep. The only way I can get rid of it is to set fire to it. I watch it sizzle in a red flame and disappear.

SEASONS

New spring sunshine,

You tell us to come in,

That it’s not so bad,

That we get to live for

another day

in our rags.

Spring

Is a good time

To visit cemeteries.

Diamonds shimmering on leaves

In mint  summer.

In shade, death looks on.

Summer appears,

A perfect day.

Something is lacking.

Summer is bored.

All dressed up

And  nowhere

To go.

Black lacquered cup,

Poured in

Summer air.

The sun

Is making

A royal  entrance.

The sun is coquette.

He comes

And he goes.

The sun,

Straining to remain hot.

The season blowing it out

Like a birthday candle.

He rolls out of bed late

To the welcoming

Fried air.

Another day

In the early moneyed autumn.

Blue, the color

Yellow leaves among the green.

You are invited

at this time of year.

The wind blows,

Nobody

Cares why.

The sun poured thru my window down onto me lying on my bed and I felt like a hothouse flower that has forgotten to bloom.

The sun,

Straining to remain hot.

The season blowing it out

Like a birthday candle.

Once again,

the sun falls

Heavy like a peach.

I followed a snowflake today; I followed the wrong snowflake.

The fist pounding up thru the desert floor.

And then what?

A bloodied fist sweating in the desert

Sun.

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