Mike Bagwell

no fly this time

I’m lacquered up and gleaming

like a frozen pond with so much life

drinking all-day IPAs at night

children crying through

the walls as they

lay down their hexes

for invisibilia

we have carnivorous plants

in the house now they are

little poems when they wait

for their fly to close over

I wish there was advice

in general that advice was

possible or at least likely

in my dream I met poets

I hadn’t seen in most of a decade

and then there was a fire but all

I saw of it was smoke

until I was walking alone

up a steep grass hill

with a growing view of the city

awash in red light

most of my exits from poems

lately have been into parenthood

like that long cough

from sleep

better go see how

she’s doing

tree pose

I have a digital reminder

to do sun salutations

every morning but I never do

I do this move

far too often

in poetry

this move being

downward dog

I write poems

in all technologies

at once is maybe

the problem

or maybe

that there are no novel

opinions on parenthood

especially at this age

of environmental devastation

I’d like to take this moment

to once again warn

the residents

of these words

there’s no escape

not if you’ve made it

this far down

oh wait

here

cheetah cat

face paint is not worth it

it's too sad

when time comes

and they can't be

what they are

the opposite of breathing is breathing

when will I think myself

a good enough artist

to say what I mean

which is how fucked we all are

remember the joke about how

forests stopped being carbon

positive their fires doing more harm

than their breathing

that's how fucked

man my toddler is in a whiny

mood this morning

and the dog barking at every

other dog's

shadow as it floats by

I get it we all here

just yelling for beauty

and how slow

it disappears

thank you henson

planes pass in and out

of the afternoon

do nothing to remind me

there are twice

as many people

living in my neighborhood

as there are cheetahs

living in the wild

citizens of earth I vow

to recognize my inner muppet

montage my months of becoming-

muppet I vow always to bang a pot

when my fist makes contact

PEOPLE SHOUTING IN FRENCH

the subtitles say as the car emerges

from the ancient womb

of the ocean my poems

are really many small poems

in a trenchcoat wreaking havoc

and struggling for balance

control tower

I am calling for

a no fly zone

over my vowels

may they entice any

that dare with their

siren song sweet nectar

steady green signal lights

draw down winged souls

into their vibrant hell

forever

I’d like to be

stupid happy

like those ancient

clay figures

with flat faces

to catch the sun

under the sea

fucking wild

that myth of the high-five

originating from American sports

in the ‘70s or whatever as if

we haven’t been

touching each other

since the beginning of time

as if making sound

from the body was a new idea

we hunt flies together

clap together

if we can clap apart

dive into a history

of touch

in an octopus’s garden

ah shit

I let the titles

carry me

out here

Kermit the frog

is singing

the Ringo cover

this time

and the reverb grows

and grows

even the gods

playing hide-and-seek

stumble out

of the ocean

in awe

terrible

blotting out

the sun

say ok

your turn

to hide

thank you it is

is the text this time

when I say looks gorgeous

to my cousin in Ankar Wat

and the picture is a temple

at sunset with trees

growing through it

Ayla named her bears

Daycare and Ramen

she’s not in daycare

she doesn't even like ramen

don’t think

I forgot about the tarot

star it's just the sun now

burning a hole

through the back

of this poem

over us the planes humming

in their temples of the clouds

great spiritual jazz

the sun says

by consuming myself

I give my warmth

to every blade of grass

every poet every city

every touch you can

come out now

it says

I found you