In the House of the Verb To Be

I'm a pornographer waiting for the money shot.
I'm an evangelist waiting for hope.
I'm an amusement park pony waiting for children.
I'm a centurion on Good Friday.
I'm a meteorologist waiting for a cold front.
I'm the life span of a star in the mind of an astronomer.
I'm a student with cheat notes on my sneakers.
I'm a traffic light stuck on yellow.
I'm thinking.
I'm holding down the fort until reinforcements come.
I'm a fireman with a garden hose.
I'm fifteen feet away from sunrise and fifteen minutes from home.
I'm the last living dodo bird.
I'm the map of North America-the veins in my right leg lead to Georgia.
I'm an email hastily sent.
I'm the incorrect spelling of my own name.


Stranger

When the word
You didn't even know
You were looking for
Reveals itself


Suddenly

Like waking from a long sleep
In a stranger's home
Hung-over

Not remembering
Arriving at that exact place
Just the one
Word
Without sense or sentence
Like a shiny new quarter
For your immaculate poverty

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