The Poem Theif
Today I woke up and my poems were gone.
So, I became a theif,
First I slunk back into bed, found my lover folded in amongst the pillows and blankets.
“ellen” whispered as I kissed her cracked lips.
But she slips deeper so I
I steal poems off her coffee with cream shoulder which breaks above her shirt .
I untangle the bits of heaven from her hair, which mingles in inky ribbons against the ivory pillows.
Her breath hums against the world, pushing back as dreams are being made, and I steal every one.
In the next room the baby begins to sing her songs of loneliness
Her voice pierces,
shrill silver against so much grey.
Without a noise I slip in…next to her crib…but she sees me.
Her lips curl, into her wide daddy grin and she begins to giggle.
Her eyes squeeze tight, trying to hold her laughs in, but with ten fingers and two kisses her laughter is mine
It bursts from her belly,
I capture each poem written by her pudgy fingers on my whisker face and give them back one my one, by nibbling her nose.
On my way to work I steal poems from the cars as they crush against each other,
Greedy for each inch of blacktop, each stop light, and every open lane.
They pour themselves into the pavement,
trying to be the first one to go no where
But the winner is a broken down hatchback with a busted blinker and jacked up rear tire,
the driver lays on the hood
resisting the tide of cars,
and gives me his poem as I pass.
I steal poems from the naked trees longing for their summer garments
I steal pomes from the puddles mixing mud and gasoline rainbows
I steal poems from the shadows following each footstep of the postman
I steal poems from a bum on a bike whose whiskers have survived decades of razor blades
I climb the clouds and begin to steal poems from the sun
It’s sonnets, like lightening, transform puddles, chrome bumpers taxicab windshields, and the waterfall rocks on 6 TH ave below the coppertop church,
The sun sets ablaze the dying mass of 1 billion huddled snowflakes,
I take and take and take… until I can take no more…
With a head full of stolen poems and I sit down to write…