Michael Gardner

Poelita

I heard that poets

lived in a place

called Poelita

and supposedly

follow the string theory

of cats

and the life of food stains

playing lacrosse

with their dogs

all the while

in the park

looking

for a spit shine

but what’s a little mud

just mud

and if I miss the boat

maybe I could try the kazoo

accompany the windy aesthetics

of the plateau

I heard that poets

lived there too

with their love

on their arm

Bundt Cake

on the trail of purple hearts

I remain unphotographable

a syllabic sun

conveying the countless

similitudes of woodpeckers

and I remember the day

the caged bobcat

purred like a velociraptor

what was left of the chickens

cringed

I Fall in Love Too Easily

from the nostrils of horses

came all the insults of the day

no longer sounding of assurance

but stink and scrabble

slithering from the vim of breath

drawn from darkest garden

seen racing

through the biting leaves,

seems one must be careful of ineptitude

radiating sexuality is contagious

not interesting it sneaks

into the grinder like a counterfeit hot mustard

and some will roll their eyes

throw back the peppermint schnapps,

the death of the deficit hawk

ruined everything

maybe it’s better to mosey than to gallop