New Year's Transformers

published in Jivin' Ladybug

Out of body, the strange apparatus




air from air. It resembles a mouth,


an opening. Inhale.


Not really a mouth, but there are hands


stitching together a summer cloud


in a sky of frayed ends.


Not really hands, not a sky, either.


Scents carried in the air weigh nothing.


All you can touch


contains a cosmos of memories.


There is not here. Now is not


the time.


 It can hear you talking,


although you only mouth the words:


it can pick up anything


and bear it along


up, up, and away: all those messages from elsewhere




and arriving and only passing through.