from "Ghazals for 2023"
89/
Does the name Norman Clature mean anything
to you, or did I dream taxonomy?
Whittled ghazals blend with opacity.
I raise my cup of hot lemon water.
I invest in your listening to my screams,
with the proviso I always love you.
Un-precious poodle fresh out of the bath
dives headfirst into the laundry basket.
Graffiti all looks alike: one large wound
as original as blue jeans once seemed.
90/
Homage to loose leaf: I can afford you
no matter what interest rates do.
Bandages resemble flags put to work.
I dream healing beneath against the skin.
Purport as a noun is duly noted.
Genteel distaste for lime lit body soul.
Spring fields encompass hard edged dirt way pre-
harvest. Think of yield. Or erase something.
“Hello?” “Yes?” “I thought so.” “Thanks for calling.”
Precipitous reflex not yet called for.
91/
Eradicate or replicate or just
pare it down (parrot down for midnight quilt).
“Tons of people” instead of “numerous.”
(Do you weigh them or are you counting them?)
Slow walk the political matter some
hope will simply go away on its own.
I breathe the breeze of Little Bay de Noc.
Coat crease, focus of attention, warm name.
Divinity split into three enough
to unify again for whole intent.
92/
Lace of windows mid-wind arc their way up
away from the bodies half reclining.
Reciprocal vegetables induce
ad hoc hunger centimeters from here.
Postal carrier leaves a form saying
signature is required to get my letter.
Has anyone seen my hypotenuse?
Rafters full of low hanging froth clothing
Guardrails made of melted brass instruments
Shield us from part time avenging angels.
93/
Potawatomi Park complete with zoo,
bandshell, courts, and pool atop sacred ground.
Oxymoronic playthings: woodwinds,
brass, and strings with vocal cords resounding.
A home I can relax in clean white towels,
and life without responsibility.
See-through windmills, seventeen of which fuel
one home powered free and clear on the grid.
Lackluster study group producing one
scholar with multiple backup singers.