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Disclaimer
Don’t assume these poems are about me
they may be easily
about people I know or wish to
or never want to know at all
they may be about the sky
when I’m thick with the insides
of my apartment
Or they may be about nothing at all
just words I like to glue to each other
and somehow make sense of
but not the kind I meant
Don’t assume these poems are about me
But don’t assume they aren’t.
Every Day is Now
Must remember every day is now
and the future is not when but how
but be careful of the past
pulling its haze of why
over your deficient eyes.
They can operate
but they cannot cure.
After Autumn
and the trees
look so bare
without the semblance
of souls
to lap at ankles.
zigzagging zeppelins
wound the
sky,
a fading blue bruise.
I find,
I cast a longer shadow
than I can walk.
Dolorian Dreams
Remember the car flapping away
I swore I saw that fluorescent couple
climbing into a space shaped ship
the doors swung up
kissing good-byes
to my parents’ startled sighs
in the summer sleepy night
they left shivers in my eyes
when they turned the key
and drove their silver automobile
into the nicotine sky
with its wings of impossible steel
the stolen wool of dreams.
Dogtags
Wrinkled whiff of acrid mothballs
crisp clang
metallic epitaphs
short and unsweetened.
This wirey 160 pounds
5’ 10” compacted man
bends a steel silhouette
to scratch Butch between
his perked ears.
Could not be,
thought the boy was gone—
looked at him
suspended moments
before recognition
strangely licking
the beckoning hand
of a dead man.
As a child
Don’t you wish clouds had substance?
Or that you didn’t?
Imagining you could just evaporate
or condense at will.
And turn your room upside down
to walk on the ceiling?
So everything was new again.
As a child you wanted this
as an adult you haven’t yet forgotten.
Pipe Dream
What does it mean
when all your dreams are pipe dreams?
Is it a failure to succeed?
Or an unwillingness to submit
to cagey reality?
Do you exist where others didn’t?
Or is denial such a compelling destination
it draws you even
when you don’t have a reservation?
And the money has gone beyond
running out.
You’ve swallowed your pride
and found that freeing
but there are so many days
when you want to vomit
it back up again
but find you can’t.
Why is a pipe dream called that?
Simply because it’s a contradiction?
(like writing poetry that no one will read)
A dream is not meant to be a solid thing
you can’t smoke it
But how can it not be?
For it feels so heavy on me
but without it I would not be lighter
I would be empty.
All poetry copyrighted by Andrea DeAngelis © 2005.
For further information contact makarmusic@hotmail.com or see www.makarmusic.com
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