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THE END OF SPRING
summer begins
the earth is falling back
in love with herself
the sky pales
the earth's dress rots
on her browning body
by winter she will be totally under
her own spell again
and the sky will be black with
pent-up snow
INCOGNITO
God grabs a six-pack
from the 7-11, broods
all the way back to the motel.
Eve, now there was a woman...
Even the sunset looks watered-down
through the windshield. I'm old,
He thinks, that's My problem. He parks,
walks through the wall of the Days Inn
into His room. Older than a catfish
or a parrot... Older
than a desert tortoise...
He orders a wakeup call
for 4:00 a.m., lights a cigarette,
thinks about the perfect TV show...
Flipping through
the Esquire He picked up
at the airport this morning,
His eyes lock on a passage
in an article about the Cold War:
"I was the thinking, functioning
organ of the minister...."
KEEPING BUSY
It's a rainy day. The apartment stays
inside. The coffee is absolutely steaming
over the ruination of minutely-
laid plans. The wig in the closet can't do a thing
with itself. Rows of shoes just stand there.
On the bureau, a book reads itself:
"I am writing myself," it reads, as in a dream
of a painting of a hand painting
a hand. Hand reaches for coffee
cup, picks up book... In this wholly true
story, only the wig is false.
Wrong, asserts #1 Detective. The bed lies
also! The clock can't keep a straight face! All
the towels are full of dry humor!
You can't hear this place cracking up? I thank
#1 Detective, who is whisked away,
and look again: A woman walks in
and asks me if the liar's at home. He's
busy, I tell her. Put down the pen. Shut
the book. What I reach for always be-
comes something else. I stand there wondering what
to do with myself. Hand reaches for wig....
RAVENS ARE THE SMARTEST
birds in the world
so says somebody who
says so-and-so says so
I think of Heckle and Jeckle
when they plunge from great heights
like suddenly becalmed black kites
with a har-har-har toward their
pals on the ground then adjust
their wing flaps just in time
but when I see a lone raven pursued
by a squadron of stupid sparrows
with nests of offspring to protect,
I think of Socrates and Galileo
Pete Lee owns and operates a bookselling business. He lives with his wife in a small town in the Mojave Desert. His poetry has most recently appeared in the online journals Unfettered Verse, Antithesis Common, Alba, Thick with Conviction, and Shampoo. (June 2007)
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