Pomegranates, Early November

1 February 2013

I want to be a cat. I want to be
the snowfall in Jersey after
a hurricane’s ruined feat. Know

this poem follows a template: where
I take your words and stuff them
in my mouth. Here I grow hungry

and walk short distances
in the San Francisco rain, cupping my hands
telling the world that this is the only way

to hold rain. To view the poem through City Lights,
wondering why I’m never used to reading
at daylight. I think about the future,

no deja voodoo that no one can
out do. I am at the store now buying
live fruit: opening it with a dull knife, watching

its seeds spill. Here: take your words,
take the seeds I spat –
make a tree the cat can sleep on.

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