Morgan Michaels Poems

A persistent, necessary delusion
grown to resemble Truth
may well pass for same.
...

Truth is Delusion's precipitate.
The Brooklyn Bridge was once
only Robling's notion;
precipitate lacking
...

Delusions, Delusions, come running to me, now-
whey-faced, whimpering, simpering, blind,
spastic, phthistic, small and spavined-
how do I love you? You shall see how.
...

'So I was fired', he said.
'Looking on the down side,
I have no income.
Looking on the bright side,
...

Once upon a time, there was a man who fished for a living, daily trolling for haddock and other fishy kine in the Sound of Long Island, which is really a bight. He had survived the earlier, more adventurous parts of life, and with gratitude had given up any idea of world conquest, concentrating now on paying the bills.

He had only one bad habit- he played the horses- like his father before him, which speaks a lot for the genetic theory, but his twin brother in Maryland did not, which didn't. Be that as it may, by getting up very early and being ashore by four, he could be at Belmont for the six o'clock heat three times a week and earlier on weekends. His luck was never too good. The majority of times his earnings covered his losses. Sometimes he lost seriously. But, through hard work and diligence he managed to get by.
...

Annoyed, Skipper identified his prey as a shark, which sells for nothing. Swearing out loud, he reeled the fish in- there was little else to do, and as the feisty creature neared the rail, he picked up a bat to prevent it from lashing back. Soon the shark was pummeling the deck unpleasantly. Raising the bat to deliver it the coup de grace, Skipper was surprised to hear it say,

'Wait. Don't. Stop. Let me go!
...