2 poems

BEING/GOING GANGS 

Plan lives within microbes

Not certain why I begin.

To reserve the best numbers possible,

My imagination plays coffin-maker

And composes fast a population

Watching the storm while the storm loses interest.

Life is falling into the sea in flames.

But the just born went an opposite direction

To guarantee they'd be modeling a type of

Ready-to-eat meat before seer-season ends.

By flying glass, I write swallowed groundwater.

Microbes have no memory of that.

MISTAKEN FOR JENNIFER ANISTON

I find myself stunned by news sitting in cars.

Every engine's running, daring some daylight

Of demons melting backwards.

I am afraid of shaking all over.

I ask who said nothing and save myself.

The street is oily furniture made from plant beds.

My stomach's lost its legs, the smell

Has no head.

I find my skin and a few wings for the baldness.

It's been a hard decision trying to survive.

The poor people have Internet

Made of water the size of boulders.

It's in a dark well in my neighbor

That my wife and I are provided shelter.

With bags of rice we wash the snowball fight

God continuously shakes.