ORGAN SWELLS
The blonde prize bride,
taffeta train swelling
across an anticipatory aisle,
marches ceremonially
toward her waiting, hungry moon.
BESIDE MYSELF INSIDE YOU
I’m old and I’m married
and a thousand miles away.
And yet–
O succubus!
Embrace!
SUIT FOR EVERY SEASON
One season for clubs, for spades, diamonds, hearts:
one suit for every season.
One card for every week in the year:
each suit has a baker’s dozen.
One season for clubs, for spades, diamonds, hearts:
one suit for every season.
One card for every week in the year:
each suit has a baker’s dozen.
Stud poker is what we’re dealt these cards for:
clubs for the living, spades for the dead,
diamonds for the rich ones, hearts for the poor.
–Hurry up and deal, we all said,
and save the talk for later!
Sailors and gamblers all die between decks,
one suit for every season.
The sailor waits for his day of shipwreck,
the gambler plays for the losing.
–We’re dealt such a salty game of paker:
Here’s the salt for the baker’s bread
and salt for the wet grave of the sailor.
–Just pass the salt, is what we said,
and hold our snack for later.
Lawyers salt their brief times away at court,
one suit for every season;
laws just clubs and spades; they steal the divorced
diamonds, bury hearts with reason.
The dealer shuffles and his hands go blur
and he passes the blacks and reds
and fills our hands with clubs, spades, diamonds, hearts.
–Just deal me wild cards, we each said,
and leave justice for others.
One season for clubs, for spades, diamonds, hearts:
one suit for every season.
One card for every week in the year:
each suit has a baker’s dozen.
Stud poker is what we’re dealt these cards for:
spades to the living, hearts for the dead,
diamonds from the rich ones, clubs on the poor.
–Just deal those cards, we said, we said.
and keep speeches for later!
QUOTIDIAN
Nostalgia deferred.
We all live in tomorrow’s yesterday.
Somebody dies. Somebody enters our lives. The sky reddens. A fog sets in. Airplanes crash. A package arrives. Stock prices change. A buck crosses a brook at dawn. Cancer spreads. A sperm enters an egg. A poem happens.
We all live in yesterday’s tomorrow.
Mysteries resolved.
BECOMING WAS
My bedside clock
tictockless digital.
The visible face
of is becoming was.
No trace of change
or decay. No sound
surrounds our wake.