Sunday, April 13, 2008

A dawn poem, written at dusk

Morning Bowl of Cereal
Paranoia is why I get up
in the morning

and my definition ends there.

Still fresh citrus rises through a clear straw--
I pick my friend
s like I pick fruit.

Yet I'm aware of my translucency and I can't stop
taking you in,

--smoking--
can't stop loving
the way you coo
l hot food
only after it's in your mouth.

I forget about my ripped jeans
and cold knees.
I become a blind man in a dark room
looking for tha
t cat
who slipped out the door
because of its
fear of mice.

Silence is a kind of violence
when we're really listening and
violence a kind
of lust
if we're utterly lonely.

Love affairs are like cross word puzzles
without the vowels.

Eventually the world will start over again.

Leaves the color of rust reach
through the brances of leaves, still green.
Where's the change?
Can we overstand?

I tell myself I own three dogs
when actually, they own me.

After it all ends
I'll write books
about the way things should have been.

4 comments:

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