I am a Wasp

I am

a

wasp

I

reserve

my sting

I only wish

to chew my paper

and sculpt my nest

But here I am, being

shooed out of

a four-door

sedan;

chased away by a

rolled up

magazine

I have no malevolent intentions

I reserve my sting

yet here I am,

my wings are broken,

and the ants are carrying me

away.

Old poem #3

We've got our analogies

and metaphors

and similes

and

allegories

We've got our red clay and yellow silt

We've got dust and grime

dirt and mud

and what we lack

is clarity

we have stones

when we need crystal,

we have leather

when we need glass

doors

instead

of

windows

There's no maps, no direction

no guides

nor a destination

we've traded lenses for gems

and our telescope is blind

"Expires 10-29-06" or (Old Poem #2)

I feel like a carton of milk

that can see its own expiration date

I won't apologize for curdling

and I won't feel bad for ruining

that little kid's

cereal.

But I will feel bad for

is spending my whole life on a shelf

even

when i can see

my expiration date

But I'll still spend my days dazing and dozing

in the

fast

flicker

of flourescent lighting

and I will regret much

because

my past

is clear

and I'm already starting to spoil.

Old Poem #1

we ignite

lifting

raising

shooting

flying

burning flaming

combustion

all propelling through

our atmosphere

breaking clouds

and the sound barrier

shattering the water vapor

veils hiding

our deep pools

and

dark forests

fuel's gone

dipping

diving

dropping

descending

free-falling

far down

breaking the Sargussum

surface

sinking

swimming

floating

wading

deep in

sapphire

pool

we rest at the bottom