(Untitled)
And a coffee
Says,
No,
Not today.
Today you go to see
the sisters
at the Convent of Our Holy Day.
Today you sing
an opera
a folk song
a poem
written by a child
born in the pasture
during a respite
from the war
(Untitled)
And the music filled the room
With tidings
of good days
Sensations of cinnamon
And vanilla
Roberta walked in the room.
She took his hand
and they danced
to Australia
and Singapore
and the place down the street
where they have those great desserts.
It was a long dance.
Then they went home and slept
until they woke up again
(Untitled)
And a something was
dangling in the air
It was in Albany
and Albuquerque
and here
and there
and everywhere
Some people called it Charley
Some people called it Sam
For the gender-fluid in the crowd
It was known as Terry
Or Tam
Why am I writing this?
Why not say a prayer to the gods up high
Charley may always be here
Until the day we all die
Filed under:
Art and Culture, Poetry