Two Poems from J. Michael Wahlgren

The Orphan


So umbilical, from the trace of light,
She tries to imagine a face

one by one or
two by two, depending upon dimension,

coming from celestial orbit,
coming from elements.

The fireplace is one with the chimney
if we encounter space, as McKenna does;

She thinks of baby names, when
she isn't even close to orbiting anything

besides her self. A revolution
beside herself, a revolution of poetics,

& this thing called abstractism, so fond
of letters--- a Dear, a chirp: providence,

so insightful, this gossip we chatter
behind our backs, as if

showing the plot in a paginated
curse, could light the alley-way to your self.

Porcelain!
We relate.




Prodigal


The key to her opium-like lips,
rises unto sea. If tossing is in her lexicon, than
say it with ease: this wave,

McKenna
is enveloping there, beneath
this plateau. Someone

shows her the ropes: how to tie &
untie light. (Genesis-like poses
into the camera's lens.)

Maybe ribs
go out of style, the showing
underneath.

McKenna envelops there, beneath
this plateau, someone
shows her the ropes: how to tie &

untie the light: This body
turns
with likeness to the sun.


J Michael Wahlgren edits for Gold Wake Press. He is author of Silent Actor (Bewrite, 2008),
Chariots of Flame & Pre-elixir (Maverick Duck Press).





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