Morgan Michaels Poems

Who they are don't ask-
you're not supposed to know
Ulysses tethered to the mast,
they're the ones who row,
...

The only excuse
for rhythm and rhyme in poetry
is to quicken the idea.
The only excuse for poetry itself
...

It is Spring. Swallows fill the sky
Nature shows a one-day plush of stubble
that in times to come will double and redouble
itself greenly over the fields and dandle softly off trees.
...

watched invisibly by their elders from behind makeshift drapes
over broken sidewalks, up stoops, through windowpanes,
past the blinds of lids, corneas, the iris's radial curtain
runs the image, through the lens
...

Donnie was glad when the time came to leave the office behind. Outside, the rain had started to fall, again. He admitted he was tired and dozed on the train, as it hurtled downtown. But, at the right stop, he awoke abruptly and jumped off. Outside, the rain had stopped but the sidewalks were damp-darkened. He walked under trees, their leaves still glistening with raindrops, along sidewalks cracked and covered with dog-do.Nearing his door he walked faster and faster. Collecting the mail, he rode the lift to his floor, at the end of which, his door gleamed, darkly. Once in, he bolted the door behind him, the zombie's words still in his ears. Going from room to room he lit lamps. In the kitchen he filled a glass with ice from the freezer, and held it beneath the faucet. The ice cracked as water filled the glass. Gulping the water down, he belched and excused himself-needlessly, because there was no one near. Just then, the telephone rang. He started to answer, then stopped, deciding himself in no mood to talk. When the ringing ceased, the answering machine chirred on. Shocked, he recognized the voice of the Zombie.

'Welcome home, Doctor. Long day, heh? No matter. Look, I remember what you said. I want to help. In the desk door you'll find a map. Get it, it's important. By the way, you're excused'.
...

That morning when he came in Donnie spied the zombie sitting in the wait-room beside the water-cooler. It was reading an old number of Vogue. Donnie thought this odd, not expecting that zombies cared that much about fashion.

'This is a different sort of zombie, indeed', thought Donnie.
...

In a minute there was a knock at the door.

'Come in', said Donnie.
...

This struggle through the still Undone,
pendulous, laborious,
is like the clumsy waddling of a swan.
...