two poems when one would likely suffice

the plums

when I sit in my refrigerator light
I am touched by nothing, no
disconnect no heartache
it’s like the sun
superb in June, a
mistake forgiven

but the purple frosted plums stare back
as though they might mutiny
I’ve seen this before, they
fail to recognise
their inability to self-govern and the
inevitability of their inclusion
in a tenderloin glaze

they remain motionless in their gravity
tonight I’ll dream like a tyrant

*  *  *  *  *

circus in town

I will join the circus
and ripen into rarity
defying death
through foible

I will wave from the parade and
float upon the city
like the shadow of an airplane
over the roofs and circus tents
the car lots and strip malls the
cul-de-sacs and violence the
heroin crack back alleys

who built this bumpy town?
who stole its left shoe and
abandoned its body
to the midtown coyote and
hasty crow?


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