Poet in the Aviary

1.

No more beating round the bush, boy--
Just murder for the thrill of it,

Fire at will.

2.

Bad chicks' blood seeping under the sill--
That's more like it,

No more mockingbirds to kill.

Hot off the Press

Jolted

from still one more slow in-
tense reading

of a hard, demanding article
on Williams' Spring and All

by my wife's shrill
come here quickly,

I shoot down
the stairs thinking

something's surely up,
only to find her

waiting, arms folded, looking
coolly at me from behind

a stack of freshly ironed
still steaming laundry,

her face beaming,
good news all around.


(First published in Poetry Salzburg Review #14, Autumn 2008)

No Haven

he eyes the heavens
infinity

the earth declines


(from The Intricate Evasions of As)

Song of No Rhyme, No Reason

here,
there--

a
non

se-
quit-
ur

ci-
ca-

da
wind-
ing
up

in air.

After A Day Spent Writing

--after William Michaelian


Going out after the end
Of still another hard-working day,

To see if the world is still
There or not, is it not always

This life-giving pleasure
That takes our breath away?


NOTE: Written after reading "Quitting Time" on
William Michaelian's blog.