Three Poems

Knit and Purl

I talk through you & filter subjects
Little sunsets flare out from your wings
Our words burn out
Pondering surface tension
Kicking eggs into oxygen
A new fragmented experience
They talk through you -  abrasive notions
Your wings fold back
Having no home
Gravity guides freefall
Reason can be a string of logical ideas
Or a person perched above an oyster’s pearl

Walkman

My poems mosey wayward
Order a double whiskey
Dousing flames with petrodollars
A canon of words
Feuds with the jukebox
I spur
When the poems start stumbling
Preferring a Walkman to talking

Musical Notes

Everyone says they have the best sex
Like they’ve planned a grand opera
Speaking in symphonies
Are little crumpled up musical notes
Lying beneath your crumpled up clothes
Waiting to be used – incompletely decomposed