Its’ buffer yells poem!
Its' boundaries are none but fare,
farthest away, corsage the flames— contained
in a cornucopia:
These stray cats:
the thunderous reply from the crowd.
"In these sheets"
The total of my eclipse—
the heyday memoriam in retrospective
was a leap into the air, an earring of great deceit.
You leave me here in these sheets,
my own touch.
If not for gossip, how
would we discover each other’s own eclipse?—
I stay in these sheets, now, forever
Perhaps, we are
a match after the smoke clears.
The caressing the tips of the umbrella's march, open.
A semiotic breach into thin air.
I rethink the way out of the maze; the after-life perches like a bird
on my unconscious sill. I take the pill after-all, it sends my world into a whim.
I refuse to use the synonym for a gaseous state, you figure it out.
Is it magic? The disappearance of the depression.
You failed to notice my glance, my retrospect. My inspection
passed, fyi, I crossed paths with a mime & he wrote down the clues.
I need to be reborn into a circle,
Speed reading my way into a hem; the pretension
of what's to come, what to predict when the skin of the balloon is thick.
J Michael Wahlgren has been published/will be published in Snow Monkey, Perspectives Magazine, Beauty/Truth, iddie, admit2 & elimae. He plays guitar for his grey & white feline in Boston, Ma where he is the editor of silent actor & The Flask Review. His first chapbook of poems entitled "Chariots of Flame" will be released by Maverick Duck Press in December.