the airplane poems

dear readership (all 3 of you),
here are the poems as they were written in my journal to and from england this past christmas. you may see them again in edited pieces, but for now, consider this poetry sushi -- little raw bits wrapped in seaweed and sticky rice...


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i am the cat
covered in pools
of hot winter sun.
i am stretched
and disjointed
lying on your tax returns.
i am bending,
my tail caressing
the carpet.

i am like a cat
urging the magnified
sun through the window
bounced off the snow
to lick my exposed
fingers, face and belly.

i am alone in a hallway
reading William Hathaway
as you pass
and block the light.
we are Sleeping in Church
we are forgetting
by means of other Poets.

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a different pen
and a different ache
specifically unfriendly
the battle for space



and there's nothing but black outside.

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the smell of pretzles (oh how i loath even the word)
the unkind preasure
swells in my stomach
how many painful hours
left in this wretch of
a bird?
and why can't i write?
the ideas missing
with space, with room.

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how to read frank o'hara:
obey

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trundle forward, my whims,
on the coat of a handsome boy
or the plate of a fine dessert
find yourself bemused with green.

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on an airoplane with frank o'hara i dreamt
about the letter you'd never send and
coloured bottles of water from france.

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i did not drop the letter, and i don't feel
particularly
about it, one way or the other.

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now,
try to compose a poem.

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