A Secret

“There is a dream outside. 
I am dark and imagined and 
I can’t wake up….”

I have forgotten how I write.
My voice is with the calendar,
in the cemetery,
dusting off a bottle. The sun has moved
in on this town,
drying up oranges,
turning water to dust.

Today, I am a reflection.
A left over.

The wind is locked.
My phone is dead.
People have stopped watching.
I am underground,
away from cancer and traffic.

“…and the dream is inside, too.”

Light is nothing, not even artificial.
The birds are an alarm;
God’s warning.
If someone could crush my hand with
a hammer, I could stop all this.

The world is stretching.

I want my voice back.

The Man of Steel

Man of Steel installs himself two feet
from me
at the bar,
resting his rusted joints.
The years have been hard on his
Steel bones.

He has a wife who is not made
of metal;
she is the ambiance of
a fresh bloom
or
a spring afternoon
and poofs her hair in the morning.

He wears a charm around his neck,
a talisman,
because a man of
gird cannot
move on his own –
steel is heavy!

A potion of spirits
must surely add to the corrosion in
his joints but it seems
to soften his supportive structure.

All the people,
all the people,
all the people want to know him.
A man buys him another drink;
the bartender leans
over the counter
to reveal her
gourmet mammals.
All shriek and snort around in
merriment and mirth.

Oh, what a great invention by
The Man of Steel! He almost sucked me
in to his illusion, but then I
saw his bandaged elbow dribble
when he bent the glass
to his cheek.

Men of Steel can do many things
but Men of Steel
don’t leak!