j. michael wahlgren
Copyright ďƒ“ 2011 by. J. Michael Wahlgren
Table of Contents Déjà vu Torpedo Blues On dead boys The cold Colossal
Déjà vu You are the exception to a rule in that night your green dress dines and larks upon us, a hint of atmosphere. And roll out the carpet from lies to dive their heads Into. Like swans, once together always so distant. In any situation, give up and give out forge best as remembrance, so you mutter I’ll change the channel.
Torpedo I find my home among other Heat-seekers. The sky Above us is possessive In nature. It leaves its prints Upon the floor. When I dive Out, I am found by the wake, a rectory behind us Wintering quickly.
BLUES Youâ€™re pretty cool for blessing us in sunglasses. The glare is amiss with firecracker blues, touch the flame. In my own world, I am quite aware of your thawing and fire. The right shoulder angled in such a way as to make up meanings of what I just said. What previously Stays put. What mesmerizes us. What glows.
On Dead Boys Not a lyrical ballad, & so further the stop, by the river in-between water & whereabouts. You're traveling to you. You're traveling for you: a valentine-like note shifting hands in a classroom. No clock.
The Cold Fiery as in fiery situations, a temper never comes easiest as song. Our time as a linden, soft touch of your hands to its torso, trembling, you were sentenced, a lengthy margin stealing my gusto As quaint as equilibrium for whom the bell tolls. Or, some amenity, to haphazardly fire us Into your apartment, & Insulate us.
Colossal It sounds large, almost landing As a UFO upon a palette, A painter remixes to--It being blessed by a priest In sunglasses, it takes Its time through fog and mist.
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