Morgan Michaels Poems

Smarter than a horse
Hardier than an ass
Laughing exclusion to the rule
Unbroken to bridle, saddle
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What can I say about Sleep?
Who tip-toes down the hall
In slippers each night;
Opens the door
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She holds a soft cloth over my mouth
Whispers it will be alright-my nostrils burn
Her lips are on mine. Her embrace is so close,
Massive, dark as every dark, heavy with the weight of all things.
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What shall I tell you about my lover Sleep?
Sometimes at night, the tent of darkness will shift.
She has left me, where has she gone?
Straining to penetrate the dark like Atlas
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What shall I tell you about my lover, Sleep?
Sometimes the dews and the dawnlight
Find me with her still, possessive, I
Like a slain bird beneath her cat's paw.
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Humor has a merry mien:
he warms the blood and heats the soul
and percolating through the spleen
purges from it Envy's bile.
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The oracle said we would lose, its message, very clear.
'Quit the bones of your fathers, your lands, businesses,
Gather your children, what articles of worth
Might easily be carried on your backs and get the heck out;
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She might converse with angels
as with a fool or clown
and might well chat with blackguards
but turns their mischief down.
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Chew the gum of no tree
sweetened with sugar or mint
rather, child, resist
the vile condiment.
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Cellophane wings that
thrummed the pane
drained of vim
still on the windowsill
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