Poet Watching

Gloomy word-cloud shadows
bump and grind together,
shedding dada mirrors--
yellow, orange, red.
Grammar is begotten,
tit for tat. The pretty ones
adjust their wings, preen and sing--
but alone in the gap beyond the end
of the world, I'm too busy to respond.

Caught Between Two Meanings

(For Paul)

I love that beat
of metaphysics--
the form, the idea,
the morality.
We can bicker all day,
call magic the truth.
That is the point
of disappearing.

Pause for the Cause