Poems

How things work

Every time I try to write one
Some Thing waits with a cup
And I pour words into that cup
Words that are about that cup
And only for that cup and
Are the only ones who can make up that cup
fill it. the cup is a bubble waiting to be blown
It can only be as how you make it. A Process with tools like
Eyes that will take in,
Mouth sweat, words are my mind’s mouth sweat
Skin gets hair and tight then
pushing out words
until you find your moment Then.


Bus Rides

Tilt wrists, for fingers, to touch my shoulder but they can’t quite touch
my shoulder
Your arm is around me, hand loose, elbow on my shoulder head
On my other shoulder.
Your fingers still come at me.
Me, giggling cause your fingers cannot reach.
But please don’t stop trying.