William Shakespeare
Karma keeps a small smile as warm
wishes warp shawls, harps help heels.
Walk a seesaw sail. She seeks harm,
washes wasps. A weak meal sparks real
skills. Her arms are a limp heap; she spills
his share. Mall kale is a sham, miss.
Same helm as I saw in war. Ask me, will
I hike a mile all April? Risk hell, seek a kiss.
Her elm shakes. She is a leper; he is a Sikh.
Ill marks spew a mess, seep smells. She wails,
spells are amiss! A messiah’s spiel: a meek
elk has a raw rash. Heal a kelp whale,
a sea wisp, a seer’s psalm. Spam milk
kills herpes. Mash a ham. All hail whelks!
Fortune
Tent’s on fire!
Attend to it, dear.
Don’t free Satan—
never trust a fiend
to vent tender sound,
free fate and not fear.
Starvation ends at a
feast. Fat rats do not
dine on dust or dirt.
I often run, afraid of
vast feints of a star.
Stand fast, O fount
of due fortune. See,
I ate a sun and netted
five tears, ten tears.
I stand in front of
a friend, dare to save
trees, vines, and stone.
Do I die for a tune?
As Midas Did
To harden a heart, stab mine
and bend it so that it shatters.
Bereave me, divide me, rub
me into an artist’s imitation.
Traverse the months to moan
under a hard tide, rust-veins
and amber desire. Enervate
this mad home, bare of habit.
She said I didn’t invite her.
The truth is, I didn’t return,
but I tried to adhere to her;
I tried to subsist on moths,
on ruined bread, on shame,
but the moisture in rain
dried out and made a desert.
It doesn’t matter; this burden
is a dead bird destined to sin.
Do I deserve to be in Heaven?
I admired her, I desired her.
But I turned her to treasure,
as Midas did, and shit—
I never intended that.