Poem: The Tourist

The Tourist

I saw her sitting in the Empire Square,

Head down, legs crossed,

My book in her manicured hand.

She seems infinitely mysterious

And infinitely there,

A Vermeer smile crossing her lips.

Do I approach her?

Do I say-

I am the creator of the world you are in right now

I am its God

I control the seasons, the rise and fall,

The intricate necessities of life.

Do I say-

And what are you?

Who are you these children I’ve born

To these cities I’ve built,

Are you a tourist?

A resident?

Do you love them as I love them,

Do you know what they mean,

Do you expect more from me?

I say none of these things

And watch her until she gets up and walks away,

Still smiling.

So now I just know that she’s a world

And endlessly fascinated by my work.

Poem: Once

Once

Once I was kind and wise and true-

At least, so in my mind.

But I was far much younger then

And youth is often blind.

Far in the scattered sights I saw,

So deep within my mind

That I could ne’er notice when

My heart was left behind.

So now when old I sit and wait

Upon my awful throne

And I am forced to linger here

Till I am set to stone.

I look back on my once youth days

To when my light had shone

But I am dark and bitter here

My heart is left alone.

Poem: The Mayday Parade

The Mayday Parade

We carve our obsessions

On the backs of living room walls

Then send out our smiles

In the mayday parade.

Carefree and wild,

            The children run and play

On the green

At the scene

            Of the mayday parade.

Don’t you dare tremble,

            Don’t shed a tear

We wave with clenched fists

Grit our teeth in rictus

As dusk settles down on

            The mayday parade.

Poems: Bookstore and Reset

Bookstore

I step into

The                  Of the

Boundaries      Bookstore

And I am in pain

Because of all the stories

I cannot have

            here

Reset

With my computer’s dying breath

It says it’s shutting down;

I feel the same.

Poem: Teddy Bear

Teddy Bear

You ask me, when we were little-

“What makes you feel better

When you feel bad?”

I said my teddy bear,

Ragged and torn as it was.

I asked about yours in return

And you said, “It’s you.”

Now I have to decide

Whether I am more or less ragged

Than my teddy bear.