Amen Squared
Nimrod builds a higher tower
this incarnation.
Bigger. Better. Badder.
Crows bring trinkets.
Suits shake hands.
At the Roy Chalk building
in Georgetown a staircase
circles down and around
into the belly of the beast.
The Madwoman of Chaillot
asks, “Can you smell the black gold?
The money to be made?”
And down and down they go,
following the endless stairs.
xxx
BREACHING
Poems cannot walk
rainy blue rooftops
in New York or Paris
as much as we want them to.
Poems cannot bring you back
at this precise moment.
Poems drift in the tidal pools
and sparkle the surface
like glittery bait fish.
We haul poems up in our nets
raising our arms like disciples.
We catch a flash.
The soft underbellies of truth
and the lies we’re yet to tell.
We catch the past
but cannot hold tight
as it escapes our icy fingers.
Poems school out there
in the dark waters
in the warp and weft.
They rise
flap slippery wings
like manta rays.
Just out of reach.
Luring us deeper.
Sirens whose songs
we are powerless
to resist.
xxx
The Cocktail Queen of Muscatine
Gatsby Gatsby Gatsby
just never comes true
breaks up with the
Arctic wind shear guy
the wannabe rapper
from the crackhouse next door
prefers mocktinis
yet builds a solid rep
on mixology
and possibility
Never met a syrup
she didn’t like
we love her
though she never reads
she craves
imaginary parties
Gatsby Gatsby Gatsby
missing the point entirely
xxx
