the pet fish

the pet fish                                                      January 21, 2016
like a falling leaf
i am too old to know what i am doing
becoming mulch
and carrying the radical message of the crown
to enrich the ground

the potted tree
loves the pet fish
they have never met
but when the boy
dumps the old water
his mother
waters the tree
with the leftover fish pee

the pet fish
swims in his dish
with the neon rocks
under a milk crate
with a cat on top
she steals his sun
but can’t taste his life

the cat
bats at the potted tree
looking for birds
in the house
it’s her job
to defend the place

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wherever bugs are found

wherever bugs are found                January 21, 2016
my skin is the silk of a spider.
will you walk right through me?
i hang in shreds and wisps
with trash and blowing things
stuck to my face.
i am the silk of a spider
on your skin in the dark.
you have walked through me
and will never shake me off.
you thrash and try to smash
my weaver with your boot
but she is an expert
at tying sticky threads
around the arms of scorpions.
the spider builds her web
wherever bugs are found.
gardens are good.
she protects them from the insects
that eat the hearts of women.

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fallen                                                     January 20, 2016
you complain of being uninspired.
have you gone blind
or merely put on the critic’s glasses?

a poet is always inspired. the poet’s eyes
see the sound of the garbage pail
and a poet’s ears hear the smell of snow.

the critic sees trash and feels cold.

the poet’s tongue tastes the texture
of a cat hissing and her skin
feels the odor of ripening peaches.

the critic tastes sour green fruit
and feels bloody claw tracks.

the poet’s nose smells the trembling earth
and her balance is thrown off by the shape of a drop

the poor critic smells tears and falls on his face.

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