Dream-Lit

What if everything
that's impossible
has already happened
somewhere else?

A lab in which
beauty can be
created in a test
tube is located

somewhere in the
middle of nowhere.
The virginity of
indecision sits on

the fence, leaning
this way and that.

In These Here Parts

It may well be
that an angel
fans the furnace
face of IS with

wings, but we've
never seen it.
Or even heard
tell of it.  In

these here parts
we whack the ass
of IS with sticks
until he douses

the crops
with rain.

Original
(Donne)

My ship cruises
through the night,
its flags ablaze
to tempt your gaze.

Your presence
allows darkness
to drag midnight
to within sight.

We haul our
collected self
off to bed and,
screwing it into

original sin,
invite infinity in.

Moonlit

Moonlight, which
becomes you when
you're moonlit and
is currently being

augmented by a
formation of flickering
fireflies, marches
across the night

as if thoroughly
convinced of the
distance between
now and then.  Your

rearrival in the morning
makes my timepiece tick.

Happy

A poet is trying
to show us
how clever he's
convinced he is

by choosing words
at random and
gluing them to
the page.  We

pretend to appreciate
what he's doing,
then burn what
he's done while

he sleeps in
his happy dream.

Details

They say the
operation was
successful, that
I will now live

as close to forever
as it's possible to
live under the
terms of the new

contract.  The few
minor details that
still have to be
worked out all

begin with a 'd':
darkness, decay, dreams.

Words

The last thing we
need is more
poets chasing the
paparazzi around

town on motor scooters.
Let's continue waiting
instead for the end
of whatever this

turns out to have
been.  If a poet
can point something
out, that's different.

There aren't enough
words to go around.