Indoors

I have a quiet tendency
Through the chilled wintry window
Transparent dew blossoms reflect heaven and memory
It is winter
There is no sap, nectar, or pollen
And the bark is brittle
If not frozen

My memory is both a blink and a wink
Shall I explain?
Imagine the scent of a rainbow
Don't think

Messages - like memories - become fossils
They will always exist
But in a small, specialized field
A little terrarium, some would say

Squeeze

I'm too much of a realist
For poetry
-just some of it-
Not poets's poetry
Just mine
I can only lie
And fake it
So much
And then I gently
Place my hand on it
(on the paper, you see)
And squeeze-
This act is calming in its casualness
And crushing
Hence - gratifying
I want to right now
To this that should not exist
I don't like bullshit
Even if it's beautiful

It is windy outside
Inside - I am thirsty and restless

Cricket

start

with a word

something like

I have a headlight out

an absurd happening

there's nothing spiritual about it

(it's all right here)

requiring the simplest of language

been out a week

or so

I think very little of it

-that was yesterday-

today

at a coffee shop

(I know)

got my headlight fixed

on the way

wasn't quite so simple

put something in my head

had to wiggle it a bit

orbiting in and out

can't catch it

completely like a cricket