a normal poem about love

this is a normal poem about love,
about a two people who see each other

for the first time and from the first time
it's perfect for a moment

until one unknowingly profanes the perfect illusion
that the other has devised in great detail

without evidence or corroboration
from the actual person whose eyes they met.

and from the first time in that first moment
they successfully create an alternate reality

populated by a pod person for their own pleasure
dedicated to the way they prefer to be touched.

the language of love is never made of words
until someone writes a poem just like this one

and ruins it for everyone.

a whale for the almighty

has a whale ever been trapped
in the carcass of a volcano?

an atoll in the middle of the pacific?
or does it depend on the reef

and the dunes and the way the sun
shines off the surface of the solar panels

that speckle the beaches
and modest rooftop of the

Tokelau town hall? and would it
take all the people there to get the whale

back out to sea safely if it had
been trapped in the first place? and would

there be enough time for the whale
to survive, swimming past the sharks

hidden in the surrounding shallows
as they wait for fishermen to leave

and the remaining fish to settle back
into tight schools for better hunting?

or is all of this irrelevant
because a whale knows better

than to get stuck anywhere at all
unless it planns to make such a sacrifice

in order to keep mystery and science alive?

The Lincoln Macomber

it takes just one turnip
pulled up by a bored fella

under a clear sky
in south eastern Massachusetts

one turnip deformed
by a rock in the soil

looking an awful lot
like the 16th president

to set the imagination of a fella
ablaze with fantasies

about a Kentucky turnip
fighting for the freedom

of turnips everywhere,
and unifying the great

turnip nation.