Joe Somoza
How Sentences Undulate


Why do your glasses prevent
the sentences from forming--
whether interrogatively
or more assertively?
It's true that information
never stayed with you for long,
seldom even
came to visit.
You preferred knowing your stomach
so much more
that it would not be persuaded
by propriety to go away,
the way your mother could've been proud of you
among strangers
had you succeeded in convincing it to.
Now, wherever you're sitting
or walking past, you're where you are,
and wherever you've been
stays with you.
And your glasses that sharpen branches,
metal grills, and finches, you wear
selectively. You like
how sentences undulate themselves
around the way things
feel.




Autumn Cycle


It's comfortable inside myself
even when the wind
surprises the few leaves and sets them
fluttering.

Like this season's grackles dressed in
brown and tan, I blend
into the landscape of trees
with their fingers open.

The sky's so familiar I feel
embarrassed even mentioning its name.
Certainly the color blue is
unnecessary.

Like some feelings, words
are better
left unsaid, though not
saying a word takes practice.

A very lonely person
doesn't have the luxury
to relish
walking into a house that echoes.