Carol Dorf

Don't remind me

of that pregnant oeuvre.
A star is trouble,
no matter how uplifting.

Modern herbalists,
alchemists for desire,
disintegrating climate.

Evidence aside,
we and our planet
immune to harmonic

healing. Like nerve impulses
remind the bedridden
of forgotten motion,

wrapped in covers,
exact in yearning for
a remembered home.

Uncertain Love For Whom I Wait
     Hollis Sigler, 1991-92; The School of the Art Institute of Chicago

Night at the diner

The moon has crossed the sky

The waitress shuts off my coffee drip

Once you and I shared peach pie at a red table

Your cell phone must be out of juice

Every evening deserves a title

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