Pomegranates, Early November
I want to be a cat. I want to be
the snowfall in Jersey after
a hurricaneโs ruined feat. Know
this poem follows a template: where
I take your words and stuff them
in my mouth. Here I grow hungry
and walk short distances
in the San Francisco rain, cupping my hands
telling the world that this is the only way
to hold rain. To view the poem through City Lights,
wondering why Iโm never used to reading
at daylight. I think about the future,
no deja voodoo that no one can
out do. I am at the store now buying
live fruit: opening it with a dull knife, watching
its seeds spill. Here: take your words,
take the seeds I spat โ
make a tree the cat can sleep on.