Michael Steven


Lunch with the Russians

Your body is straight,
your outline pierces the sky.
There's a blunt betrayal that knocks
at the table, like the past it's
what keeps us reminded. My hand trembles
under your own hand's turning —
shaken by dreams changing roles.
Reality drowns, the hollow sound
of splashing bodies carries into the trees.
So gloomy. So strangely speechless.
And needlessly painful were the replies.
Perhaps, we'll soon come to love uncertainty,
caressing the brocade of our new emotions,
excited like salespeople.


The Portrait

The day hardened with every sigh.
Something old returned,
something new was forgotten.

Finally, we had reason to be still
leaning on our tiny secrets
as if they were about to escape.



Michael Steven lives in Auckland, New Zealand. He works as an electrician and studies part-time. Has released a chapbook, Homage To Robert Creeley, through Soapbox Press.

 
 
 
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