I name thousands of them in conciliatory form
keep crawling where the joins are sulky bare.
Rolled up blankets and trying shook out clothes—
name them, ever-moving tentacles like hair.
This kind of thing might be accustomed—
being invited but also whole body warned.
We built a perimeter of well-packed refuse.
Love is like a stupid plaster formed.
Hadn’t made a gift several shades of wing—
listened with my eyes how I was made—
I stupid with love. Are willing to pedal
days across a mirrored surface sharing shade.
I have gone sailing some little land.
I can count fidelity on half a hand.
apocryphaltext Vol. 3
Bonnie Jean Michalski received her M.F.A. from the University of Arizona in 2006. She currently works as an editor at the University of Arizona Poetry Center in Tucson. She co-runs a small press called MacawMacaw Press that publishes poetry in the form of hand-made books. Her chapbook, My Glass Terrace The Hinterland, is being published as part of the 2008 Dusie Kollectiv. "I, Coleopterist" is part of that manuscript.
a poem by bonnie jean michalski