Love March (#5)

There is a pulling at the end of the garment,
As if I prepared by dressing in layers,
To hide my chest hair.
And all the talk of resignation,
As if I could squeeze in regardless of the
Size of my whiskers.
The applause sign would flash,
To a crowd without eyes.
An absolute silence;
A tyrant in disguise.
And I would march with my armies,
Untrained and innocent,
Flopping dandelions in their heads.

But I would take my time.

And just before the clock hits three
And the buzzards roar.
Drive from my cupboard (I may)
to cover you and take you away.



Piano and Latin

Piano and Latin,
My true love awaits.
How they are so the same
How they are so...
True.
Yes, indeed.
They make sense
Such a petty defense
For my soul.
In a way to defend;
For the essence of love
Await.
A wait.
There is a way, else
Trouble mates
Piano and Latin,
My true loves await,
To connect my soul,
Cross the lake
And make it;
Colors a flying
Curtains dying
And flames, a-roar.
The true poetry of colors.



Bed Bug

Unconscious–
that is how I move.
With a backpack into
an unknown water.
I have written this
poem before,
perhaps, was I
half asleep?
I trudge in pillows
a circus of sheets..
Convinced –
that I have, marched
with my eyes closed. The fire
from the friction of
pants and legs.
I have written this
line before,
I just forgot it.
So bare with me,
in these clouds,
The music is soft;
And the harp, mini coma
strings, and things.


J. Michael Wahlgren is the author of one chapbook Chariots of Flame (Maverick Duck Press, 2007) & a forthcoming full-length from BeWrite Books. He has been published/will be published in Snow Monkey, Perspectives Magazine, Beauty/Truth, The Furnace Review, admit2, press 1, Dark Sky Magazine & elimae. He resides in Boston, Ma where he edits & web designs Octaves Magazine.