poem index

Void and Compensation (Pug-nosed Dream)

Michael Morse
If most things speak for themselves, can't it be said
that really you're doing the thinking for them? 

The first step is all about obsession with exclusion, 
the cold front coming in and forcing you to hunker down,
the migrants winging their way to some gold coast
with enough fat in their chests to burn down a barn.

Isn't your own heart that way from what or whom you can't have? 
Wasn't Sarah Vaughn singing this all along? 

Polka dots and moonbeams, for sure, and that dress
that loves your body suddenly put aside, and that touch,
oh brick wall, oh tin car, oh small space
inside the crumple zone of either/or. 

Copyright © 2006 by Michael Morse. First published in Spinning Jenny. Appears with permission of the author.

Michael Morse

by this poet

Ideal: to drive the lane and look for dishes,
to see the open man, give him his bucket.

The one-on-one for which we are now counseled
blueprints a perfect symmetry that’s hard to hold.

Like my friend who dreams of his ex
and wakes to find a moonlit lawn of deer.

In our nightly houses
the dolls insist that we