Wednesday, October 2, 2013


My bird chews quietly by the humming sounds
the cars outside passing between lights
the fan on the computer singing a steady drone
a door opening and closing as one leaves a room
saying I'm settling in

I read some poems of the famous
I listened to them speak their magic on colored videos
with talk show host
I saw these poets with their hairs all combed
and dressed up in poet clothes
with hems and cuffs
that skimmed the ground
where we would step

I was listening to my bird
chew a seed
and push one kernel aside
to find its favorite

You see, I had entered the holy room
where sometimes
on a clear day
a few words of my own
come together
and I smell my body whispering

 (c) Alan S. Kleiman 2013
 published: The Lake (UK) - 2013