Fable
So. Your sister snoozes on the mountain,
Visits God and gains His confidence.
He's an ocean, a ship, she's a balancing act--
And they're waiting for better friends than
The ones you've got.
So. More than the yes-yeses of the little red frogs,
And longer than two sighs knit back to back,
Time moves onward. God crests a wave,
He hopes for less. Your sister draws night
like a weight to her chest.
So. God talks to your sister while she sleeps.
He pretends to be a hole, pretends to be a lake.
His body keeps shading into other things.
Night smooths your sister out, makes her
A road through a hard city.
And you? You cross the city's inert squares to gaze
Over the hollow tubes that thread the lake.
Time ticks and ticks. The city meets the water
and the mountain, turning blacker by the minute,
turns its back.
Boredom and the Lawyers
The bored lawyers are
the connoisseurs
of boredom. They
sense its egdges
(muggy smog), they
tease its thick
black tendons. When
the bored lawyers
sigh with boredom,
their boredom thrills
to know it, and when
their boredom subsides
to reveal numbered
and nuanced provisions,
the lawyers' eyes
turn silver, they become
lamplike seers, their
silken ties blown wild
by winds that touch
no others, that
no others have
the attention span
to feel.
posted by Reen |link| 0 comments
