I Tell Nikki’s Short Cat Story Dreams
I know my cat is messed up when she sticks her paws in a catnip bowl loaded.
This is where science fiction begins and ancient history becomes modern poetry.
She dreams of stale fish munchies, dead frogs, string beans dipped in fennel seeds
on a shish kebab stick. She scratches my dirty laundry bag to ward off evil spirits.
In catnip vision, she supports me in her hate of belly rubs.
Flying banner in an open vacated cat field night, fragments.
When I Die
When I die
not if I die
library of congress
will close out my memory card
close out my small condominium unit
rent it out. Those unfinished poems,
date undated, tossed out with trash.
My tower computer, obsolete
to miniature handheld devises.
My tower is a small penis that cannot get up.
Skyscrapers are dwarfs.
They draw a period to their doorstep.
In my grave cylinder beneath willow tree earth
complete poems go, illusive, informative
no big words:
When I die
not if I die.
Coastal warm breeze
off Santa Monica, California
the sun turns salt
shaker upside down
and it rains white smog, humid mist.
No thunder, no lightning,
nothing else to do
forward into liquid
into eternal days
Michael Lee Johnson lived ten years in Canada during the Vietnam era. Today he is a poet, freelance writer, amateur photographer, and small business owner in Itasca, Illinois. Mr. Johnson published in more than 989 publications, his poems have appeared in 34 countries, he edits, publishes 10 different poetry sites. He has been nominated 2 Pushcart Prize awards for poetry 2015 and 2 nominations Best of the Net 2016 and 2017. He also has 136 poetry videos on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/user/