Overlap

I recall the small tap
underneath. Cells to the merrier,
the bells were in soft chiming.

I was born anew.
The petals

wept with morning dew coming from the other place.
My whiskers I fit,
out of place like reticence, stars—

the soft clock puncturing my stream as if
a dream— a grandfather clock,
kept.

So reticent
of time—

Out of place.

Out of rhythm.
I dreamt I came from the disorder &

I would struggle
to see

you for who you are:
a delicate simile conjoined

with tinsel insides
floating in night
as dark as the origins of gossip.




The Briefcase Room

After John Berryman


This was a dream, as I
never felt that way before in life.
I spoke in Braille, cursed
my hands for ripening her breasts—
Or
In The Briefcase Room, where only

one remains inside, the rest travel
on Caps,
or through the wedded arrival
of groomsman etc. etc., No one has been inside without a code, the erosion
of hinges. Years pass & no last minute decisions;
all are planned by map. Rarely cash,

mostly diamonds.
It was the only way into your fault.
It was the only way.
It was the only way into the vault.
No one has seen The Briefcase room,
only you (!) know of its whereabouts.


J Michael Wahlgren is the author of two chapbooks: Chariots of Flame (2007) & Pre-elixir (2008) both on Maverick Duck Press & the full-length poetry collection Silent Actor (BeWrite, 2008). He was influenced early on by the fiction of Hermann Hesse. He resides in Boston, Ma where he edits & web designs Eight Octaves. J Michael studied philosophy for two years in upstate New York & returned to Boston to pursue other interests. He can be found playing guitar for his gray & white feline or reading an array of modern poetry.