2 Poems

untitled 1

A room with
windows. A
room without.

Repeat it
out loud. Stare
at it on paper.

Different
meanings
are lost.

Different
kinds of
light.

untitled 2

I refuse to become
what I am since

a key is
not a balloon.

Phrases keep
flickering through

me aloft on their
hunger like stomachs.

& how could a word
not go barefoot?

–I am always refusing
to mean.

*

Daylight’s engine
has turned me,

spry on my
pivoting ache.

I hate it when
morning is goading:

my heart has no
hinges at night.

The moon never
argued when I’d

build a full trellis
of moans.