LEGS, THEY SAY, MEAN NOTHING
--Colin James
Wait until morning is cautious, they say,
is not yet cavorting into afternoon.
Then, before the sun acknowledges,
does all that smoldering,
adhere to gravity's patterns.
THE CRASS CROSS-DRESSER
--Colin James
Feigning loitering while
watching the narrowest of house,
I wear a silk sack cut
into a dress of enablement.
The yard is a tangent
the street an axiom.
This bus stop not rural enough
to accommodate privilege.
ENACTMENT
--Colin James
The revolution was beginning.
It went unobserved for some time.
Doubt thrived among the less fortunate tables,
and a hat passed out.
A new antenna received signals,
but camouflage was free
and hair was in.
Radicals needed wires.
I could stand-in for a Chink,
shuffling head down
bound, intent on haste.
Carry me, carry me
I want to survive!
PRIOR TO SLEEPING WITH
--Colin James
Bottles of orange peels
fall from low buildings
into rivers of sand.
There is little possibility
of my gain-full employment
while addressing the dogma
within this dream.
All poems written by Colin James