two roads, yellow, whatever
pollen Friday, cat with a saffron
nose stargazes, lily-stained
with fragrance she’s no honey,
but my baby lays down tracks,
yellow brick road paw prints
that slap up against
an emerald city, break its lamps,
showing me there’s no genie.
But at least I get my degree in reality
from Oz, and that has made all
the difference.
Reactionary
Once everything from
the drug store came
wrapped in white paper
and green string, a bonus
for the thrifty, who were dying
for something to save.
I dumped my voicemail
today without listening
to the messages. I needed
the space so I saved it for later,
left un-transcribed the transitory
poetry of disconnected voices,
sounding so damned professional
saying something but nothing
personal, like time is the only
revolution that consumes all
its children. So then, blessed
be the ties that bind, but if they don’t
save the paper, save the string.