By
Michael Lee Johnson
I Tell Nikki’s Short Cat Story Dreams
I know my cat is messed up when she sticks her paws in a catnip bowl loaded.
This is where science fiction begins and ancient history becomes modern poetry.
She dreams of stale fish munchies, dead frogs and
string beans dipped in fennel seeds on a shish kebab stick.
She scratches my dirty laundry bag to ward off evil spirits.
In catnip vision, she supports me in her hate of belly rubs.
Flying banner in an open vacated cat field night, fragments.
When I Die
When I die
not if I die
library of congress
ISSN, ISBN,
small press
will close out my memory card
close out my small condominium unit
rent it out. Those unfinished poems,
date undated, tossed out with trash.
My tower computer, obsolete
to miniature handheld devices.
My tower is a small penis that cannot get up.
Skyscrapers are dwarfs.
They draw a period to their doorstep.
In my grave cylinder beneath willow tree earth
complete poems go, illusive, informative
no big words:
When I die
not if I die.
Graying in My Life
Graying in
my life
growing old
like a stagnant
bucket of
rain water with moss
floating on top-
Oh, it’s not such
a bad deal,
except when
loneliness
catches you
chilled in the
middle of a sentence
by yourself-
ticking away
like an old grandfather clock,
hands stretched straight in the air
striking midnight
like a final
prayer.
Headlights Tossed Forward
I live in a sketched out rusty truck world
alarm clock on the dashboard legs stretched out.
I am a coffee shop manager whores found on the road
hitch hiking to their next adventure.
My world is colored gray with half tones.
My tires are whitewalls half-flat and half rolling.
My world revolves around travels poverty my poems.
I cannot see forward the storms brewing adventures in my eyes.
Words flip-flop right to left window flapping in frozen fog.
The pace of winter nights confuses me.
I travel most of these black tar roads fender damaged, alone.
All earthly goods, tees and sweatshirts, old memories stuffed
in the back, old black quarter ton truck.
Begin, and end, headlights tossed forward.
No Comments Yet!
You can be first to comment this post!