Baby
I am the midwife of clouds
stratocumulus, cirrus, nimbus
that’s nonsense of course
I’m just a baby
invented for this poem
everyone hand out cigars!
my bones, thin as cobwebs
my skin, light as spiders
my bones, light as spiders
my skin, thin as cobwebs
my life a net
for flies and hope
push the midwife says
push
Thinking Birds
oh sure I’m a tree
and wink without eyelids
without eyelids, I’m a river
I’m all onomatopoeia
kazang! it’s philosophy
coming from everyone at once
like a ballgown worn by the sky
hey what would it be like if the stars
were eyes
and everywhere was looking
you said
and I said, it already is and
onion rings
onion rings?
yeah I need some
help with dread
*
so let’s talk about bears:
they are big and often brown
like trees?
yes but ‘sticky’ on the inside only
now imagine a tree filled with eyelids
like leaves?
like birds: it’s philosophy
if I were a bird who only plucked
those birds
who didn’t pluck themselves
and I plucked myself then
hope both exists and does not
and all bears think of sleep while
eyelids fall
conclusion:
an onion ring begins and ends with itself
an onion ring ends when I eat it
an onion rings ends when you eat it
an onion ring begins and ends with itself
Photograph © John Rutter