poem index

Void and Compensation (Stephon Marbury)

Michael Morse
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 are faithful to ourselves.

When I wake up in a bad mood,
I wonder why my point ignores my shooting guard.

This realm of giving, this realm of reciprocity:
I need a Mr. Make-It-Happen,

a deus ex machina, an all-star
down among us who deigns to fix our gears.

Until then, these uptake-inhibitors are splendid,
as when I find myself a deer on some strange lawn,

my garden party head a promiscuity of maps
with toll-free grassy lanes and cul de sacs. 

Copyright © 2007 by Michael Morse. First published in A Public Space. Appears with permission of the author.

Michael Morse

by this poet

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