Morgan Michaels Poems

I am Apollo of Tamossos' head
Long known to myself alone
Plowmen pulled me from the riverbed
Hacked me from my fabulous body
...

Did he pick the dream?
or did the dream pick him?
he wondered, unsure,
but certain the gods love them
...

Almost as soon as they sat down a pretty girl with skin the color of cinnamon appeared carrying a tray. On the tray were two platters, piled high with dark yellow eggs and toasted bread. These she set down on the table in the midst of a scatter of sunshine and shadow from the trees, together with a tall white coffeepot. Beside the pot was a blue stoneware bowl of sticky honey. Then she smiled, wheeled and left before either had a chance to say 'merci.'

Straightaway the table was rushed by an army of black and yellow-vested birds with long curved bills, that darted in from the neighboring trees, fearless and famished, turned-on by the honey-boat.
...

you have taken a train to a boat
that ferries you slowly to a third world aeroport
where palm trees struggle against hostile winds;
where you board a plane stuck with propellers that
...

'Honey, that dog is ugly! ' insists my wife.
That did it.
I knew what she meant, though.
The dog was...if not ugly, extremely homely.
...

In a blue bowl, a yellow apple,
an hourglass of air, a second apple,
a pair of peaches, a golden pear
some thorns of air, a smiling banana,
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Happiness a matter of successful distraction
all else failing, take up action.
...

In the future no one will use their birth names-how gauche!
It will give none agita to coin identities-
Suppressing core data natural, preferable,
Welcome O survival-useful ruse.
...

We dream of holidays
enshrinements, investitures
giallo Mardi Gras's
Grand Entrees, happy endings,
...