Morgan Michaels Poems

'So, my husband, you are dead, ' she whispered before sleep finally came, 'then, so am I.'

The next day she told her family about the dream. She didn't look well. Her hair was uncharacteristically uncombed, her clothes in disarray. They listened respectfully but glanced at each other meaningfully. Mad, poor girl.
...

Two thousand years of delusion
engrafted on five-
my, how they scrap and contradict;
my, how when not scrapping,
...

Years've passed. Hate and distrust expired.
Your synapses turn to something akin to wood.
You motor's slowing nicely, as it should-
Frankly, you're more or less healthy, love, but tired
...

What if the notions of leisure
and entertainment were defunct?
Celibacy, vegetarianism, tee-totality-
the Shavian trilogy, our game:
...

-How old?
-About my age. Or a little older.
-Tell me more.
-There's not much to tell. I was standing on the curb. I didn't see him coming. Suddenly, there he was. I found myself looking into his eyes. They were gray, I think.
...

Outside, the lake
laughed a depthy green
behind nine square panes;
scored by a pier
...

Kerkera, I'm leaving you, my love.
You know the reasons:
I can't fish, I can't farm
and I'm allergic to all tourists.
...

There was a hawk on the porch rail this morning
the span of your arm.
suddenly, out of nowhere it was there:
not unknown in Central Park, maybe,
...