I: Ascription
i ascribe meaning to moments
you: to dice and bones and chance
what did the tea leaves say this morning?
lies are coincident to actuality—
the bees are disappearing
do you take yours
with cream or sugar?
one scoop
or two?
II: i prayed a Novena
i prayed a Novena
you don’t come around much
anymore
squirrels are the least interesting
creatures in the yard.
i spend so much time waiting
water boils
the phone rings
the postman comes and goes
everything happens eventually,
says the praying mantis,
hungrily
III: Jicama stick salads
winter beaches
frozen sunset
ice chimes
tea, watered down more than it is already
cancer-survivor relatives
seekers of good fortune (read: lost change)
cinnamon jicama stick salads with maple syrup
and rye whiskey; French pressed coffee
cereal for dinner
midnight; spring-time shower trysts
walking. home—not a place, but
fingers grasping fingers
IV: on poems written in the middle of the night
he said, don’t
read too much
into all this
i’ll tell you
when you
need to know
most times,
i just like the way
the words sound together
C.L. Carol tries to be a good human. But, humans being humans, he’s known to fall short, stumble into a local haunt and spend time ruminating. Sometimes he writes. More often, he thinks. Diane Wakoski once likened one of his poems to Yeats, but the poem is lost and the story has now been relegated to fable. He lives in Northern Michigan with his wife, Emily, and their daughter, Berkleigh. Companion to cats. Friendly gentleman. Terrible golfer.
